Silver Obsession

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SILVER OBSESSION Marion Marshall

ISBN 1-891020-20-x copyright (c) by Linda Slater Sept. 1997 cover art by Eliza Black New Concepts Publishing 4729 Humphreys Rd. Lake Park, GA 31636 www.newconceptspublishing.com

OTHER NCP TITLES BY MARION MARSHALL: Amber Moment Prairie Passage


Forbidden Harvest Last Ticket to Paradise

CHAPTER ONE

Winter saw him long before the stagecoach boarded. Indeed, he was very hard to overlook. Tall, muscular, with jet black hair and classic features that even the Stetson pulled down over his face could not hide completely. A very handsome man, perhaps the most handsome man Winter had ever seen, in spite of the shiny U. S. Marshal's badge pinned on the black vest covering his chest. A half-breed! A half-breed wearing a Marshal's badge! She couldn't have been more shocked if the man was Sitting Bull himself. What could the governor of Colorado be thinking to appoint a half-breed a U.S. marshal? Why, Crazy Horse was probably his Secretary of State! It wasn't that Winter did not respect the law, but that she didn't have much confidence in it. She had learned by bitter experience that there were certain things that were better handled alone, things the law was helpless to control and even more helpless to prevent. Still, she could not tear her eyes away from the lawman as the heavy stagecoach lumbered over the plains and began its climb into the Colorado mountains. It was mid-day and stuffy inside the coach. The other passengers were either sound asleep or dozing, rocking back and forth with the gentle sway of the clumsy vehicle as it wound its way through the plains area of southwestern Colorado toward the towering,


snow covered mountains that were her destination. Winter glanced out the window of the stage, grimacing at the cramping muscles in her legs. It had been a long, tiring trip from St. Louis and was still over a hundred fifty miles from being over, but the scenery outside her window seat brought a new-found excitement to her weary mind. Colorado! She was here at last! For the past eighteen years she had dreamed of this moment, when she would return to the land of her childhood, but for the very first time she knew that dream was coming true. Colorado! How long she had waited! How long she had planned! And now, at last, those plans would see the clear light of day! She wore a modest traveling dress of dark gray silk with matching hat and scarf and a dainty lace handkerchief she pressed to her lips occasionally to filter out the dust the six horse team kicked up as they maintained a steady pace toward the mountains in the distance. Behind the hanky, Winter smiled, a smile that did not reach her eyes. No one knew the dress was made of a once fancy silk table cloth she had stolen from the orphanage where she grew up. No one knew the fierce determination that drove her to make this journey, or the quiet resolve that had convinced her to marry a man she had never seen because it provided the means for her to return to this barren, godforsaken land. She touched the gold locket beneath the high collar and smiled again, a thin, grim smile that held no humor. Her eyes narrowed contemptuously as she stared at the handsome lawman across the stagecoach from her. He was in his early thirties, she calculated silently as she studied him in the quiet punctuated only by the heavy breathing of the salesman seated beside her. He was dressed in blue denim trousers, outlining his muscular thighs and long legs. A dark green long-sleeved shirt and the black vest stretched over his broad chest.


His jet black hair was an inch or two longer than was fashionable, combed neatly to one side and lay in shimmering raven waves down his neck. The copper tint of his skin made Winter's teeth grind in annoyance, the classic high cheekbones and regal nose shouted to her of his heritage. A neatly trimmed mustache rested above the full, almost sensual mouth, his hands folded in his lap, the tan Stetson pulled down to shade his face while he dozed in the afternoon sun. Winter knew his eyes were dark, as black as midnight. She felt her stomach churn with hatred for him and all like him. It was his kind who had destroyed her life and left her an orphan at the age of eight. It was his kind who had.... Suddenly, she realized he was watching her and noticed with surprise that the eyes she had assumed were coal black were not black at all, but rather blue. Cobalt blue. So dark and intense a blue that at first glance they rightfully seemed black. "Something on your mind, Miss?" the lawman asked in a pleasant baritone voice that startled Winter from her private thoughts. His sharp gaze took in her chestnut hair and glowing hazel eyes. She was stunning, just as Ben Barrett had said. "W-what?" Winter stammered. She lifted the face hanky to her lips in an effort to cover her embarrassment, noting the gleam of humor that made the lawman's lips turn up slightly at the corners. "You've been staring at me for a good ten minutes. Anything special on your mind?" "Since when did an Indian get elected a United States Marshal?" Winter snapped haughtily. "He didn't," was the lawman's mild reply as he shifted slightly on the uncomfortable seat. "He was appointed by the governor of Colorado."


Winter's startled brain tried to formulate a stinging reply, but before she could say anything, the salesman next to her spoke up. "The governor had the good sense to know a good lawman when he saw one. Marshal Dekker's been a godsend to the people of Gold River, Miss. Oh, it's still a wild place, I'm not denying that, but it's a sight better now than it was before Blaine came. A sight better." Winter glanced from the salesman's confident face to Marshal Dekker's calm, almost amused one. Then her gaze dropped to the Colt .45 that lay strapped around his waist. The weapon was secured by a wide, black leather gunbelt with double rows of teeth to hold it in place and was tied to his thigh by a leather thong. The position of the weapon told her that Blaine Dekker not only knew how to wear a gun; he knew how to use it. "I didn't realize that the governor was so desperate for help that he'd started hiring gunslingers for marshals," she quipped coldly. "Reformed gunslinger ," Blaine corrected her with a humorless smile. "The governor figured the best way to combat gamblers and hired gunman was to hire one of his own, so he arranged the appointment. So far it's worked out pretty well." "I'll bet," Winter replied with a sniff as she turned her attention out the window once more. She sat stiffly staring out the window at the rolling landscape, outwardly calm and reserved, but her insides were churning. She glanced back at Marshal Dekker, but he was once again dozing on the seat, the Stetson pulled down low over his eyes, his arms folded across his chest. Winter bit her lower lip angrily and drew a long, shuttering breath. She slowly flexed her fingers, realizing she was clenching them fiercely on the seat in tension, and once more returned her gaze to the countryside beyond the window.


She felt as though she had been traveling for months instead of the nearly two weeks since leaving St. Louis. She had been through a hundred cowtowns along the way; Sedalia, Wichita, Dodge City, and finally Pueblo two days earlier. Small, dusty, noisy towns that had only one thing in common; each one brought her another step closer to Gold River and the new life that awaited her there. She had spent last night in Canon City and was finally on the last leg of her journey. By now the vast plains of southeastern Colorado had given way to the lush green forests and sparkling streams that gradually rose in altitude as the narrow coach road wound into the mountains. Looking toward the northeast, Pike's Peak rose majestically above its neighboring peaks to overlook the surrounding countryside with great snow-capped grandeur. It was breathtaking, even to Winter's distracted mind. She knew that a few miles further west lay the Garden of the Gods, 700 acres studded with huge red sandstone rock formations. Winter's brow wrinkled when she remembered her father's tale of the Utes who believed their Great Manitou 1ived in Pike's Peak. When an army of giants invaded Ute territory, the Great Manitou turned them to stone. She remembered the happy times when her father had spent hours with her on a cold wintry night before a roaring fire drawing pictures of the rock formations and explaining why each had acquired its name. There was Vulcan's Anvil, the Two Old Maids, the Three Graces that resembled the three Holy Men from the Bible, and the Balanced Rock. Over the years, he had explained, many of the formations took on names of their own, although it often took just the right angle, or just the right glint of sunlight to capture the image the names projected. Winter shook the image of those happier times from her mind and touched the gold, heart-shaped locket at her throat. Her eyes turned grim, her jaw became hard as granite as bitterness flooded through her


slender frame. Those happy times were gone forever. They were now only bittersweet memories that kept the flame inside her alive. Her attention was drawn from her memories when the plump, pleasant-faced woman at the opposite end of the seat directed a question to the salesman. "Isn't this Indian country?" she asked nervously with a sideways glance out the window. "Yes, ma'am, it is," the salesman replied gravely. "Was a time the Cheyenne and Arapaho nations inhabited this whole part of the state. Now there's only a few scattered groups, although there's been talk lately that more and more are drifting back up this way from the reservation in Oklahoma." "Two Feathers' tribe," Winter agreed quietly. She felt a smug sense of satisfaction when Blaine Dekker's head lifted and his dark blue eyes opened curiously at her informed remark. "Two Feathers left the reservation over a year ago with a small band of followers. Every week more Cheyenne follow his trail north, returning to their old hunting grounds. Soon the whole Cheyenne nation will have come home." "You know a lot about the Cheyenne," the salesman announced with a surprised expression. "My father spent years putting the Cheyenne's language and customs down in his journals," Winter replied seriously in that same quiet tone. "I've spent the better part of my life studying them." "Any special reason?"


Winter's eyes swung immediately to meet Blaine Dekker's steady gaze. The question had been asked mildly, but Winter was certain the lawman was expectantly awaiting her answer. "Yes," she replied shortly with a curt nod. "Very personal ones." For a long moment they stared at each other. Winter felt the hair at the base of her neck rise with expectation, readying for a fight, and was mildly disappointed when Blaine merely closed his eyes again and settled back in the seat for another nap. She let out a long sigh as she returned her eyes to the window. She could close her eyes and imagine what an argument with Marshal Blaine Dekker would be like. He appeared to be the kind of man who didn't like to lose at anything. He'd go straight for the jugular every time and hold on like a bulldog. There was nothing superficial, nothing phony about the man. She was certain of that. Strangely, she also was certain that Blaine Dekker was a man capable of powerful emotions. The kind of man who kept those feelings buried deep inside, refusing to let them surface because he felt they were a weakness and Blaine Dekker was a man who did not tolerate weakness in himself or in others. *** The heavy stage climbed higher into the mountains, over Royal Gorge, through Cottonwood Creek, moving ever closer to the clouds. A brisk wind began to blow. The clouds hung heavy and gray, promising an early winter as the stage approached Bass River Pass. Winter did not realize she had been dozing until the sudden halt of the carriage awoke her. She stifled a yawn and sat upright in the hard seat, her eyes widening with surprise when the stagecoach driver called down to the lawman. "Blaine, could I have a word with you?"


Blaine Dekker uncurled his long legs and climbed down from the coach. The driver met him a few feet away from the door of the carriage and glanced nervously back at the passengers before stating his business. He kept his voice low but it carried back to Winter's sharp ears on the cold breeze blowing across the mountains. "I don't like the looks of it, Blaine," she heard the weary driver say with a nod toward the pass looming before them. "The other end of the pass was where Dodd's coach was hit last week. I sure ain't looking forward to tangling with Two Feathers' braves out looking for a little excitement." Blaine Dekker stared at the open mouth of the pass silently for several minutes. The trail disappeared into the cavernous pass a few feet beyond the entrance. The high walls, dotted with scrub-brush stretched half-way to heaven, blotting out the sun and providing excellent coverage for bandits waiting to attack the on-coming carriage or Indians out looking for excitement as the nervous driver suggested. "It's a perfect place for an ambush," Blaine agreed while his sharp eyes searched the high rock walls for signs of danger. Only the brisk wind moved the scattered bushes. There were no other signs of life but Blaine knew that meant nothing. "That's what worries me," the driver grunted. "That's why I'm sure glad you decided to make this trip with us. If we're gonna get hit by the Cheyenne, your gun will sure come in handy. Besides, " he added with a grin, "Who knows the Cheyenne better than one of their own?" Blaine's cobalt eyes darkened as he looked away. He knew Charlie meant no harm by his thoughtless statement, knew the man was actually trying to pay him a compliment. Still, his jaw tightened, his expressive lips thinned as he pulled his hat down further against the chill wind. "If you think because of my Cheyenne blood that I can tell what they're thinking, you' re wrong, Charlie," he said quietly as his gaze swung


back to the driver's. "I didn't mean nothing, Blaine," the man hurriedly explained. "I just meant that..." "I know you didn't, Charlie," Blaine said with a thin smile. "Forget it." Then he nodded toward the pass. "Just in case, I'll ride up on top with you through the pass." Winter's eyes stabbed daggers of contempt through him when he walked hack to the coach and lifted his rifle from inside. It wasn't enough that the man was half-Indian! He was actually half Cheyenne! How could he dare show his face among decent people? But then, she reminded herself more calmly, he'd obviously been raised as white. He probably considered himself as decent as anyone on this stage. She did not share that opinion. Blaine ignored her sniff of contempt and climbed up onto the box beside Charlie. In seconds the heavy vehicle lumbered into the dark chill of Bass River Pass. Inside, Winter gripped the seat nervously and peeked out the curtain, but she could see nothing but the high, barren walls of the pass only inches from the side of the coach. The hair rose at the back of her neck as she reached for her bag and gripped the heavy pistol inside for comfort. Blaine Dekker was right about one thing; if the Cheyenne planned to attack the stage, they could have found no better spot. There was no way to turn the vehicle around once inside the pass and only one way out. For the first time, Winter hoped the half-breed lawman was as good with a gun as her companion dozing on the seat beside her had insinuated. "What do you think has got the Cheyenne on the prod?" Charlie asked


as he maneuvered the stage through the rocks. "They've been on the reservation too long," was Blaine's curt answer. He scanned the rocks on both sides but saw nothing. Still, there was a cold, sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. They were out there, just ahead, he knew it, he felt it in his soul as he cursed Ben Barrett for asking him to make this trip. Damn Ben's silver mine! he thought angrily as he swallowed, forcing himself to take a deep breath. Damn Ben Barrett for being too busy trying to eke out a living from that miserable hole in the ground to meet his own mail order fiancée in Canon City. If not for that attack the week before on the Gold River stage, he wouldn't be here, for Ben wouldn't have asked him to make sure his bride got to Gold River safely. "Shit!" he muttered to himself as he caught the glimpse of a movement high above the trail, behind an outcropping of rock just ahead. He lifted the Winchester and flipped the lever to send a bullet into the chamber. "Charlie, how far is it to the Bass River relay station?" he asked calmly. "Oh, 'bout eight or ten miles. Why?" "You best be whipping up this team, Charlie. We're about to have company and since they've got us outnumbered ten to one, our only chance is to outrun them to the station." "Not much chance of that, Blaine. These horses are winded after pulling that grade. We can't outrun Indian ponies," Charlie exclaimed worriedly. "They've got to get to those ponies before they can chase us," Blaine pointed out. "That means we've got a few minutes lead before they can climb down from the rocks and get mounted. It may be enough." He lifted the rifle and took aim at the slight movement ahead. "It damned well better be enough," he muttered to himself as he squeezed the trigger.


Charlie lashed the team, startling the weary animals into a gallop. The coach weaved drunkenly from side to side as it sped through the pass. The weeds and brush along the sides of the rocks brushed the vehicle and slashed at the window curtain. Winter yanked the Colt from her bag and pushed the tattered curtain aside. Sliding down into the floor of the coach with the other passengers, she gritted her teeth with irritation at the wails of panic from the other women as she drew a bead on the figure crouching in the rocks above the coach. She squeezed the trigger, smiling as the copper figure clutched at his chest and toppled into the roadway behind them. Blaine Dekker's rifle barked above her, echoing through the thin ceiling of the coach as he answered the Indian fire. Bullets ricocheted off the rocks, screaming into the earth with dull thuds. The plump female passenger cowering on the floor at the opposite end of the coach screamed frantically when a stray shot penetrated the wall of the careening vehicle, spraying splinters into her neck and shoulders. Winter glanced at the woman, then satisfied that the injury was minor, returned to her task at the window. A bullet slammed into the stage just to the right of Winter's face, but she did not flinch. Instead, she shifted the arm holding the heavy pistol and fired calmly. She did not know if her shot landed for the vehicle lurched into the sunlight at the far end of the pass. The abrupt light blinded her momentarily and when she recovered, the Indians had been left behind. There was hardly time to breathe a sigh of relief before she heard war whoops as the attackers leaped to mount their ponies and give chase. Winter risked sticking her head out the window to look behind the coach, her heart freezing in her chest at the sight of a dozen warriors leaning low over their ponies' necks, rapidly gaining on the heavier


vehicle. She heard a creak in the top of the coach as Blaine Dekker moved from the seat to stretch out on his stomach. Seconds later his rifle roared as he fired. Winter cringed at the sound of the on-coming warriors' bullets slamming into the luggage atop the coach. Then she leaned out the window briefly and smiled faintly when the leader of the attackers did a double flip off his pony to land face-down in the loose shale at the side of the road. Charlie whipped the tired team into a spirited run, but in only moments the exhausted horses began to slow. Winter knew the Indians would overtake them in seconds as she hurriedly began to reload her pistol. She had not realized how frightened she was until her fingers clumsily spilled the cartridges from her bag all over the floor of the coach. She frantically searched for them, shoving them into the cylinder and snapping it back into position, then flinging aside the curtain and taking aim behind her at the on-rushing riders. Above her on the top of the weaving vehicle, Blaine's eyes widened in momentary surprise. It had to be the girl, he knew instinctively. The salesman was not carrying a gun and even if he had, Blaine knew the nervous little man was not capable of hitting an on-coming rider at a dead run. Quite a girl, Miss Winter Bradley, he thought with a tight smile. Suddenly, to Winter's amazement, the Indians broke off the pursuit. Craning her neck forward, she saw with great relief the solitary relay station growing closer in the distance. It was the most welcome sight on earth. But then, as the stage came to a halt in the yard, the Indians came from the rocks again, screaming and shooting as they bore down on the


vehicle. The stage hands inside the rough log cabin returned their fire, but the attackers plunged ahead determinedly. Then Winter gasped in alarm as the door beneath her arm was yanked open and Blaine Dekker pulled her from the coach. "Run for the house!" he commanded harshly without looking at her. His attention was on the riders that were now only a few hundred yards away. Winter gathered up her skirts and ran for the protection of the relay station. She knew the protecting fire of the men inside would deter the Indians momentarily, long enough for the passengers to reach safety. It took only seconds for all the travelers to gain the protection of the building. It was then that Winter realized everyone had reached safety except Blaine. She ran to the nearest window to look out, raising a hand to her lips in alarm for the lawman was still crouched behind the open door of the stage, firing rhythmically at the Indians who had taken cover behind some of the outbuildings. "Marshal!" Winter heard herself shout, "Run for it! I'll cover you!" She did not miss the momentary look of surprise that crossed Blaine's handsome face before he whirled from the protection of the door to run for the house. Bullets kicked up sand around him as he ran, crouched low, under the covering fire of the defenders inside. He was halfway there when a hair-raising yell made him look back over his shoulder. One lone Indian was riding hard toward him, rifle held in one hand, firing dangerously close. Blaine reached for his pistol and fired once, sending the Indian toppling headlong into the dirt. Then abruptly, the attack was over and the remainder of the Indians slipped away into the cover of the rocks


beyond rifle range. Winter moved between the men inside the house, walking swiftly into the yard. She approached the dead Indian determinedly, her lips set in thin lines, her dark brows drawn together with concentration. "Is he Cheyenne?" she asked Blaine in a strained voice while the toe of her shoe turned the Indian face-up so she was looking down into his face. "Arapaho." Winter blinked in surprise and looked up into the lawman's studious features. Her hazel eyes locked with his dark blue ones, holding his gaze doggedly, contemptuously. "What possible difference could it make whether he's Arapaho or Cheyenne?" Blaine asked at last. Winter swallowed as she glanced once more at the dead Indian at her feet. Then she lowered the pistol in her hand back into her bag and squared her shoulders. "I came back to this Godforsaken land for two reasons, Marshal," she said in crisp, clipped words. "One, was to marry a miner and make a new life for myself." When her voice faltered, Blaine's dark brows rose with curiosity, wondering why she'd paused. "And the second?" he prompted after a moment of silence. "The second is to find a Cheyenne warrior." "Why?" Blaine could not resist asking.


"To kill him!" Winter snapped harshly. She whirled amid the swish of petticoats and stalked toward the house. "That was some fine shooting," Blaine said as he took two long strides and caught up with her. "Ben Barrett's going to be real surprised to find out his new bride can shoot like a man. Probably be pretty pleased too." The ironic humor in his voice raised the hackles at the base of Winter's neck. "Do you know Ben?" Blaine nodded, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Yes, ma'am, and I don't think you're exactly the picture he's painted himself of you." Winter halted abruptly and swung around to stare fiercely up into Blaine's calm face. Her voice trembled with fury, her hands shook until she clenched them both tightly on her bag as she faced him. "Marshal Dekker," she said coldly, "'I'll thank you to keep your observations to yourself." "All right," Blaine agreed mildly as they began walking again. "Then I won't tell you what trouble you can get into trying to find one particular Cheyenne warrior." "Fine! And I won't tell you how despicable I find it that a man like you is wearing a badge and representing the people of this state!" "A man like me?" Blaine asked with raised brows. "A half-breed!" Winter snapped before she could gain control of her tongue. In the centimeter it took for her to realize what she'd said, the expression on Blaine's face changed only slightly, but Winter saw the chill that came into those cobalt blue eyes. She almost regretted the stinging insult. The lawman's face remained calm, undisturbed, but the twitch of a muscle in his lean face told Winter her dagger had been right


on target. "Miss Bradley, my bloodlines, or the lack of them, need not be of any consequence to you," Blaine replied in a moment. His eyes held Winter's prisoner, made her throat suddenly feel dry and her knees weak. "But just for the record, I'm a marshal because I'm damned good at the job. Nothing more; nothing less. And while we're on the subject of personalities, let me tell you just one thing. Ben Barrett is one helluva good man. Too damned good for some high-minded, eastern female that thinks she's about two steps above anyone else. If I were you, Miss Bradley," he added, emphasizing the word. "I'd be damned grateful that a man like Ben would consider marrying a spiteful old maid! You're sure getting the best of the bargain!" Winter stood speechless, her mouth open in shock, as he turned his back and stalked away to join the men on the porch of the house. Then her mouth snapped shut as her eyes narrowed contemptuously while she glared at his back. Whatever insult she'd lashed at him, he'd certainly known how to turn it around. He'd hit her where it hurt worse. He must have suspected that she was sensitive about her age and her unmarried status. Sudden tears stung her eyes but she shrugged them off, stalking past him into the house. Damn him! Damn his half-breed soul! She'd show him! She was going to make Ben Barrett the best wife he could have ever found. If he and Marshal Dekker were friends, so much the better. That would just make it easier to prove to that hateful man how happy she could make Ben Barrett. One thing was absolutely clear to Winter as she moved toward the inviting warmth of the roaring fireplace and spread out her hands to revive the circulation that strangling her purse had cut off. The battle lines had been distinctly drawn between herself and Blaine Dekker.


CHAPTER TWO

Gold River, Colorado greeted the dawn of September 21, 1880 with its usual gusty splendor. Winter stretched her neck trying to see everything out the stagecoach window as Charlie whipped the team through town, cursing and shaking his fists at slow moving pedestrians who failed to get out of his way quickly enough to please him. When the heavy carriage finally slid to a halt in front of the town's only official hotel, she wasted no time in hurrying down from the coach. She dusted her skirts off absently while straining for a glimpse of a familiar face among the dozens of men who loitered on the hotel porch, but saw no one that resembled the picture of Ben Barrett she carried in her bag. She was not aware of the many appreciative glances as she stepped onto the porch and stuck her head inside for a peek. Fighting down a moment of panic, she gathered her wits and raised a finger to an older gentlemen wearing a visored cap. "Excuse me, sir," she said in a squeaky little voice she hardly recognized. "Could you tell me if Mr. Ben Barrett is around here somewhere. He was supposed to meet my stage," she added lamely, her face beginning to pinken from the knowing expression on the man's face. It was obvious he thought she had been abandoned by some fickle lover, Winter fumed silently as she turned away to search the crowd again. "Ben's been delayed," she heard Blaine Dekker say at her shoulder. She whirled to look up into his slightly amused face, feeling her temper rise.


"How do you know that?" she demanded furiously. The lawman's wide shoulders moved in a nonchalant shrug. His dark blue eyes were twinkling at her discomfort. He had guessed her alarm at being unable to locate her fiancé at the end of her long journey. "Why didn't you tell me that before?" she snapped. "You didn't ask me." The polite arrogance in his voice made Winter's teeth grind, but rather than rise to his bait, she flounced past him back toward the stage. "Mr. Charlie, ",she said sweetly to the sweating driver. "Would you be a lamb and have my luggage sent to my room at the hotel?" Charlie grinned widely and paused from throwing bags off the top of the stage to nod enthusiastically. "Why, yes, ma am, be proud to. Anything else I can help you with?" "Why, yes, as a matter of fact," Winter replied. She suppressed a tiny smile when Blaine snorted behind her. He obviously didn't appreciate her charm, she thought with a smirk. "Could you please direct me to the Indian agency?" she asked Charlie. "Why, yes, ma am. Just go on down this street till you reach the end of town. You can't miss it." "Thank you very much, Mr. Charlie, you've been most helpful," she cooed as she lifted her skirts and began walking in the direction Charlie had indicated. "Ben will be in town later today. Probably in time for supper." Winter grimaced irritably when the long-legged lawman fell into step


beside her. "Thank you, Marshal," she said with exaggerated politeness. "I will be certain to tell Ben how helpful you've been on the final leg of my journey. And how gentlemanly also." "I doubt you'll surprise Ben any, Miss Bradley. We've known each other a long time." There was a long silence before Blaine cleared his throat and tried again. "Look, Winter, we kinda got off on the wrong foot. What I said back at the relay station...well....maybe I was too hasty." "That's very generous, Marshal," Winter replied coolly with a scornful glance upward. It was impossible to ignore the man's physical appeal, she thought as they walked down the dusty, litter strewn street. In spite of his mixed blood and his arrogance, Blaine Dekker was an extremely attractive man. It was more than his handsome face and lean muscular body too. There was something exciting about him, she reasoned silently. Something primitive, wild, untamed. But of course that came from his Cheyenne heritage. Even if he had been raised as a white man, the blood ties to his Indian ancestors would have to show up somehow. A horse-drawn cart almost ran her down when she rounded a curve in the street. The instant protective hand that grabbed her wrist and pulled her back to safety was strong and sure of itself, like the rest of Blaine Dekker. Still, Winter did not draw away immediately. She did not like the way the blood flooded into her face when she looked up at him, nor the way her heart pounded furiously until he let go of her hand. It made her wonder again about her wedding night and what it might be like to give herself to Ben Barrett for the first time. She squared her shoulders and pushed those uncomfortable thoughts into the back of her mind. Looking directly into the curious cobalt eyes


that watched her so closely, she halted in the street and turned to face him. "As I said, Marshal, that's most generous of you but it doesn't change my initial opinion of you. I don't like bossy, arrogant men, at best, and I like them even less when they're half Cheyenne. So you'll have to excuse me if I don't accept your apology. Now, if you'll kindly disappear, I have an important matter to discuss with Mr. Gordon at the Indian agency." Blaine's dark eyes did not waver nor reveal any emotion while they held Winter's cold, scornful gaze. "I won't apologize for my blood, Winter, because I had nothing to do with my parents choosing to have a half-breed offspring. But Ben Barrett is a good friend of mine. Has been for a long time. I don't intend to let his marriage change that fact. So if you think I'm simply going to fade into the sunset, you'd better think again. The way I see it, you have two choices. One, you can accept me and try to make the best of it, as I intend to do, or two, you can make yourself miserable over it. But the plain fact is that I'm Ben's friend and that's how it's going to stay." The calm, authoritative manner he spoke made Winter's hackles rise again but what he said also made sense, as much as she hated to admit it. "All right, Marshal," she said grudgingly after a moment, "You've made your point. I shall attempt to tolerate your presence in my life, but I assure you that I won't like it." Blaine hid the smile that tugged at his lips as they resumed walking toward the edge of town. He doubted seriously if Ben Barrett had any idea what a shambles this opinionated, high-tempered female was going to make of his life, then wondered why that thought struck him as amusing. Suppressing the grin, he glanced down at Winter's erect shoulders and determined stride. Then his handsome face took on a much more serious expression.


"A man can never say you're not forthright, Winter, if nothing else," he remarked dryly. Winter dismissed his irritating presence from her mind as much as was possible and concentrated on Gold River. She had kept careful tabs on the town over the years so what she saw now came as no surprise. Situated high in the Rocky Mountains, Gold River was a prime example of a boom town. It had first been settled in l859 when gold was discovered and had flourished until 1866 when the strikes began to play out. Then in 1876 carbonates of lead with a high silver content were discovered and the town flourished once more. Now Gold River rivaled Telluride and Goldstrike as mining centers, for each day miners dug hundreds, even thousands of dollars out of the ground. Winter knew from newspaper reports that the once sleepy village had exploded into a city of over twenty-five thousand people during that time. It was no secret that gold and silver, or rumors of them attracted swindlers, gamblers, and thieves, as well as real estate speculators and whores. Gold River was a lusty town containing eighty-five saloons and forty-two houses of prostitution, although the first real signs of civilization had also begun to appear in the form of a school and a church or two located among the more sinful enterprises. Winter's heart lifted with hope. At least there was the promise of something permanent and worthwhile here, something to build her future on. A tiny smile curled her lips upward at the thought of her own children attending this school someday. It was the most pleasant thought she'd entertained since leaving St. Louis. Gold River was a town not so much of buildings, but of buildings under


construction. More people were cramped in wagons, tents, and temporary shelters than had permanent dwellings, but if that was a problem no one seemed to mind. Most everyone Winter encountered on that first stroll through town greeted her with a smile and a nod of respectful recognition to Blaine. There was an air of festivity in the city that was contagious. Even Winter's usually serious face softened after so many friendly greetings. Soon she was actually beginning to feel at home here in this sprawling, boisterous silver town. She even began looking forward to meeting the man she'd promised to marry. But first she had business with the Indian agent. At least the building that housed the Indian agency was made of wood and looked solid, Winter thought with relief as she climbed the steps of the porch. It was easy to understand why the agency was located at the very edge of town. Most citizens were a bit nervous about Indians riding into town every few days to collect their supplies, even if they were peaceful. And now with the attacks on the stage lines, Winter knew the town had to be more nervous than usual. She let out a sigh of relief when Blaine made no effort to accompany her inside. Instead he leaned against the post supporting one end of the porch and lit up a thin, brown cigar he took from inside a vest pocket. Stepping inside the chilly interior of the office, she was greeted by the welcome aroma of fresh perked coffee. It came as a surprise to realize she was so hungry, then remembered she hadn't eaten since the day before. Then her attention was drawn to the man who appeared from behind a curtain separating the office from a private room in the back. He was a tall, distinguished looking man most likely in his early forties, Winter speculated as he rounded the long counter and approached her with a


beaming smile. He had graying hair, startling gray eyes and a lean, athletic build beneath the tailored business suit. Winter liked his looks immediately. She was positive she could do business with a man of his obvious intelligence and manners. "Mr. Gordon, I'm Winter Bradley. It's nice to finally meet you in person," Winter said, extending her hand politely. Marsh Gordon had to swallow before finding his voice. This lovely, cultured young woman was not at all what he'd expected. "Miss Bradley, I must say this is quite a pleasant surprise. I had no idea from your letters that you were so young, or so beautiful," he exclaimed with a wide smile. He lifted her gloved hand to his lips, then indicated an empty chair near the window. "Mr. Gordon, I'd like to get right down to business," Winter said crisply after taking the offered seat. She folded her hands neatly over her bag as she returned the Indian agent's curious gaze. "As I'm sure you know from our recent correspondence, I need your help." "Ah, yes, the matter of your missing Cheyenne warrior." Winter's hazel eyes began to snap with impatience at Gordon's rather casual referral to her problem. "Mr. Gordon, I realize that you think my search for one particular Cheyenne warrior is foolish, but I assure you, I'm quite serious about it. Deadly serious." Marsh studied her flushed cheeks, admiring the clear honesty in her eyes as well as the rest of her lovely face. Striking, he thought to himself. Very striking. But so serious. "Miss Bradley, I don't mean to make light of your situation, but I'd like to reiterate what I've stated in my letters to you over the past few months. The possibility of locating one Cheyenne buck is next to


impossible." "Why?" Winter demanded curtly. "Because, Miss Bradley, at this moment there are over two hundred braves in Two Feathers' camp. Most of them are approximately the same age as the man you're looking for. And Miss Bradley, if you've studied the Cheyenne as you say, you've got to know that asking them questions about one of their own is like talking to a stone wall. They'll never reveal anything, not to a white man." "There must be some way, some method of finding him," Winter insisted. She leaned forward, her eyes pleading with Marsh to help her. Once more she was rewarded by a smile. "Miss Bradley, what makes you think you'd know this man if you should find him?" Marsh inquired indulgently with a slight smile. "One warrior looks pretty much like the next. How will you know when you've got the right one?" "I'll know him, Mr. Gordon," Winter answered coldly. Her voice tightened, the clear hazel eyes became sparking pools of hatred that made Marsh shift uneasily in his chair. "I'd know him anywhere, in a group of two or two hundred. I'll never forget what he looks like, never." Satisfied that she had the agent's undivided attention, Winter relaxed a bit and drew a long, shuddering breath. "For one thing he has a scar on his left wrist, shaped like a cross. It matches this one," she added. Marsh looked down at her offered wrist, saw the tiny, pale scar that criss-crossed her left wrist. Then leaning hack in his seat, he nodded patiently. "Miss Bradley, I understand your feelings..." "No, you don't understand my feelings!" Winter contradicted sharply. The color rose in her cheeks as she leaned forward again, gripping her


bag so tightly her knuckles began to pale. "You can't possibly understand my feelings, Mr. Gordon, so don't patronize me! This man is responsible for the cold-blooded murder of both my parents! I saw him! I know what he did! And I will find him, Mr. Gordon, if it takes the rest of my life!" Marsh blinked at the emotion behind her words. His smile slowly faded when he finally realized just how serious she was about her search. "Miss Bradley, you said yourself you were only eight years old the last time you saw this man...what did you call him?" "Rising Sun. His name is Rising Sun." "Yes, yes, Rising Sun," Marsh repeated absently as his fingers drummed on the desk. "You were eight and he was twelve or thirteen. That's a long time, Miss Bradley, eighteen years. He's a grown man now, if he's even still alive. You know how many Cheyenne died on the march to Oklahoma in '64? Thousands. Why, this Rising Sun of yours is probably dead, probably been dead for years." "You may well be right, Mr. Gordon," Winter agreed quietly. "If he's dead I'll be satisfied, but I must know. I must know one way or the other." "All right, Miss Bradley," Marsh agreed after a moment. "I'll do what I can, but I won't promise anything. That's the best I can do." "That will be fine, Mr. Gordon," Winter assured him. She rose and extended her hand once more. "I'll be expecting to hear from you then." She retraced her steps across the narrow room and flashed Marsh a parting smile before leaving the office. A groan passed her lips at the sight of Marshal Dekker waiting for her on the porch. She'd almost forgotten about him. She did not speak but hurried from the porch and strode back toward


town. In seconds Blaine had caught her and he once again fell into step. "Forget it, Winter." His words were harsh, his voice grim with warning. It made the girl's head snap up to glare defiantly into his eyes. "Whatever do you mean, Marshal?" she asked with feigned sweetness. "Forget looking for this Indian, Winter. You'll find nothing but trouble," Blaine said grimly. "I just might also find the man I'm looking for." "Suppose you do, then what?" The challenge in his voice stung Winter's temper. She halted in the street to glare at him, struggling to get her words past the enormous lump of emotion that filled her throat and burned her eyes. "Then I'm going to kill him!" "Just like that? A full grown Cheyenne warrior is just going to stand still and let you kill him? Grow up, Winter! The man you're looking for will cut you to pieces before you can even blink an eye. You wouldn't have a Chinaman's chance!" "You saw me shoot!" Winter exclaimed angrily, brushing a stray lock of chestnut hair from her face. "I can take care of myself!" "Against a Cheyenne warrior? Where's your head, girl? And what about Ben? You're going to risk his life because of this insane vendetta?" Blaine snapped scornfully. "This has nothing to do with Ben!"


"Oh, that's where you're wrong. You're going to marry Ben, aren't you? Do you think he's going to let you wander off to track down a Cheyenne brave all by yourself? Hell, you don't know anything about Ben Barrett." "Perhaps I know more about him than you think, Marshal," she replied insolently. "But that's not the point. The point is that I'm going to find this man, one way or another. And I'll thank you to mind your own business!" "It is my business if you stir up more trouble with the Indians," Blaine snapped back. "I'm warning you, Winter. Forget this business. Leave the Cheyenne alone. I have more than enough to do trying to keep some kind of peace in this town without you stirring up the whole Cheyenne nation." "Taking care of this town is your problem, Marshal," Winter spat furiously. "Finding Rising Sun is mine." She whirled around to flounce down the street toward the hotel. Behind her, Blaine drew a deep breath to steady his temper. Jesus! What had Ben Barrett gotten himself into, he wondered vaguely as he watched Winter's disappearing figure merge with the crowd around the Rum and Rye saloon. Funny, he thought while running a hand through his thick black hair. He had a feeling that cold winter nights in a warm, comfortable bed with that foul-tempered hellion might just somehow make it all worthwhile. Maybe.


CHAPTER THREE

Winter turned back and forth in front of the cloudy, cracked mirror. The bridal suite in the Gold River hotel had proven to be a good deal like her old room at the orphanage in St. Louis. It was large enough, but dusty and had a faint musty smell that Winter suspected came from moldy wood and the family of mice she had discovered living in the solitary closet. However, Ben had insisted the sheets be changed and fresh water brought up for Winter's bath following their afternoon wedding ceremony. The room still had a chill that Winter could not seem to shake. Her bones were stiff and the muscles in her face taut from smiling all afternoon. Now, as she inspected herself in the mirror's gloomy reflection, she admitted that it was not the room that chilled her, but the uncertainty of what awaited her next. She gasped at the sound of Ben's chair scraping on the hard-wood floor in the outer room, then squared her shoulders and stared at herself firmly in the mirror. The flickering light from the lamp on the dresser's edge revealed a very pale face that accented the sprinkling of freckles that dotted her cheeks and the bridge of her pert nose. Her lips appeared fuller than usual, more crimson in the lamp's glow. Even her large hazel eyes seemed too big for her face. "I must get myself under control," she reminded herself softly. She had already been in the bedroom for over an hour. She had been in her nightgown for two-thirds of that time, but had not been able to find the courage to open the door to the adjoining room where her new


husband waited. Ben Barrett had proven to be exactly what his letters had represented; kind, generous, and thoughtful...His appearance lacked the dramatic impact of Blaine Dekker's sensual magnetism but he had a pleasant, honest face that Winter knew immediately she could trust. It was a strong, dependable face, Winter decided at once. The kind of face that never held secrets or pretended feelings that did not exist. She was most thankful for that. She had her fill of pretended affection and a friendly face that covered a host of evil, devilish thoughts. Again, as it had for eighteen years, the childish sincere face of an Indian boy rose before Winter's memory. Rising Sun had a sincere face too, she remembered bitterly, but it covered a depraved soul which had plotted her parents' murders even while he cut both their wrists and rubbed their blood together in the traditional manner that he said would make them friends forever. She wondered why she'd ever believed him. She had grown to realize over the long years since that it was her deep desire for a friend that had led her to become friends with the young Cheyenne boy. Because her parents were missionaries, they had moved too frequently for Winter to develop a lasting friendship with children her own age so when they settled in the Cheyenne country in 1860 and opened their mission school for the Indian children, it was too easy for the shy, awkward little girl to become attached to Rising Sun. Winter had only to close her eyes and his face appeared before her. She remembered every detail of that face. In the lonely years that passed after her parents brutal deaths, she had lain awake night after night in that awful orphanage in St. Louis remembering every possible detail about Rising Sun. She remembered the sober, always solemn expression that occupied his thin brown face. She remembered the way his ebony eyes sparkled


with laughter when he tried to teach her to shoot a bow and arrow. She remembered the lean, sinewy strength of his muscular body when he showed her how to mount a pony at a dead run. She remembered the shy sweetness of his lips when he'd given her the first kiss either of them experienced. She remembered everything, she thought bitterly as her eyes narrowed in the mirror's reflection. She had trusted him, more than that she had adored him! And he led that horrible attack that killed her parents and left her alone. She'd often wondered why he'd let her survive, why he had not buried his hatchet in her skull as she saw him do to her mother. Above all the things Rising Sun had taught her in those sunny, carefree days before the attack, Winter remembered his solemn twelve year voice telling her how important it was for a Cheyenne boy to become a man and take his rightful place among the tribe. Courage, bravery in battle had been drilled into his brain from birth. It was that savage desire to become a man that had led him to destroy her life. She was certain of that. She was also certain that she would not have a peaceful night's sleep until she'd found him and avenged her parents' murders. Winter gave herself a mental shake and exhaled slowly. She was here now. She was getting closer to Rising Sun with each new day. But for tonight he'd have to take a back seat in her mind. Tonight she must give solely to her new husband. The wedding had been surprisingly nice. Ben had hired a local band to play and filled the rough, clapboard church with the last of the summer's flowers. Winter had been touched by his thoughtfulness, but then in the year she had corresponded with Ben Barrett, she had become convinced that he was truly a thoughtful, considerate man.


The only fly in the ointment in the entire day had been the surprise appearance of Blaine Dekker as Ben's best man. Winter still chilled at the thought of Ben saying that it was all right for Blaine to kiss the bride. Thank God one of his deputies had run into the church at exactly that moment to tell Blaine of a brawl in the Bull's Eye saloon down the street. He'd left at once to break up the fight. Winter shuddered and rubbed her arms absently. What would she have done if Blaine Dekker had not been distracted, she still wondered nervously. She'd gotten the distinct impression he was no more eager to kiss her than she was to have him kiss her. Still, there had been a mocking gleam in those amazing cobalt eyes when he stared at her for a moment just before his deputy entered the church. It made Winter wonder what he had been thinking. In the outer room she heard Ben clear his throat and jumped at the sudden sound. Then with one last appraising glance at herself in the mirror, she marched to the bedroom door and opened it. She saw the appreciative glance Ben gave as she moved into the room and halted before him. His soft brown eyes traveled the length of her slender body slowly, then lifted to lock with her eyes at last. He cleared his throat again and laughed nervously. "I was beginning to think you'd crawled out the window." Winter smiled nervously and shook her head. Her shoulder length chestnut mane glimmered in the soft lamp light as she played with her fingers. "Sorry I took so long, Ben," she said hesitantly. "I wanted to look nice for you. I wanted everything to be perfect." "It is perfect, Winter," Ben assured her, rising to take her into his arms. "Why, you look so beautiful, I-I-I'm almost afraid to touch you for fear you'll break." "I won't break, Ben," Winter said confidently. His nervousness


touched her, made her own uncertainty easier to deal with. For the first time, she actually was glad she'd accepted his marriage proposal. She was certain that Ben Barrett would be good to her and provide a good home for her. What more could a twenty-six year old orphan with no skills except for a little nurse's training ask for? *** An hour later Winter slipped into her robe and padded silently across the chilly floor to the window. Pulling open the curtains, she looked down upon Gold River as she chewed her lip thoughtfully. Ben snored peacefully in the bed behind her. The room was silent except for his heavy breathing and the sound of Winter's heart pounding dully in her chest. Whatever she'd expected making love to be like, she knew that Ben's awkward, hurried caresses and apologetic kisses left something to be desired. She told herself it was only because he'd been so long without a woman. And because he was as nervous as she. Still, Winter was deeply disappointed. Her body had just begun to warm to Ben's touch when he'd abruptly mounted her. Within a couple of seconds it was over. She still wasn't sure what had happened, but she was sure it wasn't something she found the least bit enjoyable. It almost appeared that Ben was in a hurry, as if he couldn't wait for it be finished with. Her dark brows knitted in thought as she stared down onto the garishly lit street. Her gaze landed on the brightly lit brothel across the way from her window. Dozens of women were in that place at that very moment, doing exactly what she'd been doing only a short time before, she thought curiously. She wondered if they felt this vague gnawing deep inside or the disappointment that burned her throat and filled her eyes with unexpected tears.


Perhaps it would be better later on, she reasoned in the darkness, after she and Ben were better acquainted, more comfortable with each other. Sure, that was all they needed, just more time. Then everything would be fine. Still, a tiny knowing voice in the very depths of her soul told her this scene with Ben would be played out over and over in its entirety in the coming months and that each time she would arise with these same unfulfilled longings and disappointments. The loud piano music from the brothel across the way drew her attention again. For some reason it brought Blaine Dekker's handsome face into focus. Winter wondered if he made love the same way Ben did; a couple of quick, bone-crunching humps with all his clothes on in the dark. Or did the handsome lawman go about it more slowly? Did he take all his clothes off, as she heard the other nurses whispering about their lovers in the hospital in St. Louis. For a brief moment Winter's mind dwelled on the prospect of his lean, muscular body, warm and naked lying atop her own. She wondered if his lips were as warm and sensual as she suspected, if he took the time to appreciate a woman's beauty before plunging himself into her in a mad fit of desire. She shook her head. How could she dare think such ugly thoughts, she asked herself silently. She glanced guiltily over her shoulder at Ben's sleeping profile. Okay, so he wasn't the lover she'd dared hope he might be. So what? He was kind and honest and thoughtful. She was grateful for that. Besides, what did she know about passion and making love anyway? She'd come into this marriage a virgin. She was proud of that. She'd given her husband the very best she had and she was sure Ben did appreciate that. So what if he didn't have Blaine Dekker's exotic good looks and blatant sex appeal? There was more to a good marriage than passion. There was trust and warmth and caring. All characteristics that Ben had


in abundance; characteristics she was certain were severely lacking in Blaine Dekker. A match flared on the street below, on the opposite side of the street. Winter's hazel eyes widened with surprise when the momentary glow of the match revealed Blaine's handsome face as he touched the match to the tip of a thin brown cigar. What on earth could he be doing at two a.m. across the street from her hotel window, she wondered. Was he watching her, she asked herself. And if so, why? Then, while she stared at him in amazement, Blaine straightened up from his relaxed pose against a street lamp and moved slowly down the street and out of sight. Winter breathed a sigh of relief and pulled the curtains closed. He was merely taking a break from patrolling the busy street! He had merely paused beneath her window to light his cigar before continuing with his rounds. She touched her forehead with a firm fingertip and grimaced in the darkness while she climbed back into bed beside her husband. Her nerves must be tied in knots for her to think the handsome marshal was keeping an eye on her. Still, she couldn't deny that initial surge of pleasure when she'd first spotted him and thought he was watching her window. Winter, ole girl, this altitude is making your brain do strange things. You best be paying attention to what's real and stop imagining what isn't. She snuggled up to Ben's broad back and drifted off to sleep. ***


Blaine returned the low whippoorwill call and waited at the end of the dark street. Seconds later a shadowy form moved from the bushes lining the dirt street to stand before him. "I'm glad you are here, Blaine," the low, husky voice of the Cheyenne woman said. "I told you I'd be here," Blaine grunted. He glanced around quickly to make certain they were alone, then took the woman's arm and propelled her into the brush where they could not be seen by a random passer by . "Did you doubt my word?" The woman's facial expression did not change, although her eyes twinkled in the dim light. She made no effort to touch him or come nearer than a couple of feet away, but stood watching him silently for a few seconds. She was an old woman, in her sixties, yet she was straight and tall. Her long hair was braided into two braids that hung down her back. She wore a brightly colored dress over which she had placed a dark blanket to conceal it from view in the moonlight. "I knew you would come, Blaine," she said. "Why did you send for me?" Blaine asked while he glanced around again. "What's so important?'' "The agent, Gordon, has been among the people asking questions." "What kind of questions?" Blaine asked suspiciously as his eyes narrowed. "Questions about Rising Sun," was the old woman's soft-spoken reply. "Rising Sun is dead. He's been dead for years."


The woman nodded in agreement. "This is what Gordon has been told, but I do not think he believes it. It is said he has been sent by a white woman." Blaine sighed. He removed his hat and ran his fingers through his hair, looking away into the distance. "That's true. A woman came here a week ago to marry Ben Barrett. She's the one who sent Gordon to look for Rising Sun." ''Gordon will keep asking questions, Blaine," the old woman said wisely. "If this woman sent him, she will not stop until she has the answer she seeks. It is said her heart is filled with anger. It is said that she will not give up easily." "Rising Sun is dead!" Blaine snapped harshly. Immediately his face softened and he reached to touch the old woman's lined cheek. "I'm sorry, na'go," he said apologetically with a faint smile. "It's not your fault. I'm just uneasy." The woman did not speak but waited for him to explain, her sharp eyes studying his handsome face in the dim light. "The last thing I need right now is for some stupid white woman to start more trouble with the Cheyenne. I've got all I can handle with this Arapaho business. I still haven't been able to figure out how to stop these attacks on the stage lines. I sure don't need a troublesome female meddling in matters that have been dead and buried for years." The weariness in Blaine's voice made the old woman move closer and place a wrinkled hand on his forearm. "The people are hungry, Blaine. Gordon cheats us. He is not giving us the food and blankets we were promised. The young men are restless, they hear their children cry from hunger. They must do something. "You must come, Blaine," she added after a pause. "Your grandfather is old and sick. He has chosen you to take his place as chief of the


Cheyenne. You must come. You must take your place on the council." "No! " Blaine argued fiercely. His handsome face hardened, the dark blue eyes became glittering and cold. "I was banished from the people, na'go. My grandfather himself administered my punishment. Remember?" he asked her bitterly. "Remember how the people watched while my grandfather beat me senseless and then ordered me from the village? I have not forgotten, nor have I forgiven! I will never go back! I am white! I am no longer Cheyenne! Those are my grandfather's words. Have you forgotten so quickly?" "I have not forgotten, na'," the woman said softly. "I remember well your pain, but it was a long time ago. It is time you forgave and came home to your people. You are needed. Shadow Dancer talks of war with the whites. If you do not come back, he will take your place on the council. Many Cheyenne will die. This is why your grandfather wishes you to return. This is why he wishes your forgiveness." "Why? Because I've lived among the whites he thinks I can outsmart them?" Blaine asked sarcastically. "He thinks my knowledge of them will give the Cheyenne an advantage in battle?" "No," the woman disagreed with a slight shake of her head. "Your grandfather knows of your courage and your quick mind. He knows you can lead the people toward peace with the whites. With Shadow Dancer as chief, the Cheyenne will know only more death." "There is nothing I can do!" Blaine insisted emphatically. "I will do what I can about Gordon, but that is all. What the Cheyenne do is my grandfather's problem, not mine. I wasn't good enough to be Cheyenne years ago when he threw me out. I'm sure as hell not good enough to be Cheyenne now." "Your mind and your clothes are white, Blaine Dekker," the old


woman told him quietly. "But your heart is Cheyenne. There will be a time when you must accept your birthright. There will be a time when you can no longer deny your Cheyenne blood, a time when you must take your place as chief of your people." "No! Never!" A tiny smile curled the old woman's face as she turned away. She had gone only a short distance when his voice reached her, turning her back. "Na' go, go in peace, " he said in a strangely gentle voice. The old woman nodded and glided noiselessly into the brush. Blaine did not hear the Indian pony leave for the hooves were wrapped with cloth to muffle the sound, but he knew she had gone nonetheless. He turned and retraced his steps down the long dusty street of Gold River until he reached the lamp post across the street from Winter's hotel room. Leaning against the post, he lit another cigar and drew on it deeply. He scanned the street, then satisfied that things were quiet for the moment, let his thoughts go back to the conversation with the old woman. It wasn't bad enough that Winter Bradley...Barrett, he corrected himself automatically, was looking for revenge on some long dead Cheyenne warrior. He had to find some way to keep the Cheyenne and Arapaho from declaring open war on Marsh Gordon. But first he had to prove the Indian agent was really guilty of the things Half Moon accused him of. That would not be easy. Gordon was a slippery fellow. He covered his tracks well, but there had to be some way of uncovering his carefully concealed web of deceit. Otherwise, this entire country could well be bathed in blood. And there had been quite enough of that already. The other thing Half Moon spoke of brought a dry chuckle to his lips.


Him, chief of the Cheyenne nation! The very thought was ludicrous! He hadn't set foot on Cheyenne land or worn Cheyenne clothing for almost twenty years. He could just see the look on Shadow Dancer's face if he rode into the village to claim his birthright. He chuckled again and exhaled a plume of gray smoke toward the star filled sky. His cousin would not take such an action lightly, he thought with a grim smile. Funny, he reminded himself as his face sobered. He had referred to Shadow Dancer as his cousin. He hadn't thought of him in that way in years. He had not thought of himself as Cheyenne in years either, but that didn't stop people like Winter Barrett from throwing it in his face at every opportunity. No, he told himself resolutely. He was no longer Cheyenne. Two Feathers would just have to find some other way to solve his problems. He had enough problems of his own to worry about.

CHAPTER FOUR

Blaine squared his shoulders, then dropped his cigarette into the dirt street and ground it out with his heel. It was early morning and the cold gray dawn left puffs of fog when the horses in Ben Barrett's team snorted. Blaine had waited until Ben brought the team from the livery stable a short time before, waited until he was sure Winter was still inside the


hotel before he approached Ben. Now he walked resolutely across the nearly deserted street and stopped beside the buggy. "Looks like you've stocked up on supplies," he observed with a casual glance at the back of the carriage. "You must be planning on staying at the mine for quite a spell before coming back into town." Ben paused from a last minute inspection of the harness to shoot him a sheepish grin. "Well, Blaine, I'm sure you know how it is. Me and Winter need some time alone...to get acquainted...you know." Blaine nodded stiffly as he glanced away. Somehow the mention of such personal matters seemed indecent. He shifted uneasily and began again. "Ben, about Winter...do you know she's enlisted Marsh Gordon's help in this ridiculous search for a Cheyenne warrior?" Ben nodded, turning to give Blaine his full attention. "Yes, she told me he's promised to ask around, see if he can find any information about this man." "You're going to let her stir up trouble with the Cheyenne?" Blaine asked incredulously. Ben shrugged and grinned sheepishly. "Blaine, I doubt I could stop her if I tried. She's a very determined woman, especially where this Indian is concerned. Look," he added with a apologetic shrug. "Winter's told me all about her feelings about this Indian. I understand why she has to find him. It's the most important thing in her life, Blaine, I can't, and I won't, take it away from her." Blaine studied Ben's honest face. There was nothing hidden in Ben's broad, pleasant features. What Blaine saw was open and clear and a


little sad. "Ben, if you let her continue with this insanity she could well get hurt. Maybe get you hurt too. Besides, you're married now, she should be thinking about that, thinking about making a good home for you, maybe having kids. The last thing she ought to be thinking about is chasing some phantom warrior through these mountains." "Look, Blaine," Ben said quietly while he flicked the reins against the palm of one hand. "I'm not kidding myself about Winter. I know the only reason she agreed to marry me was because it gave her the chance to come back here, to look for this Indian. "I can live with that, Blaine. I'm not a good looking man like you. I don't have much to offer a wife, just a run-down shack that leaks and a hole in the ground that provides enough silver to keep food on the table. "You've seen Winter, you know how beautiful she is. I could never have a woman like that on my own credentials. You know that as well as I. So if it takes a wild goose chase to win her, then so what?" Blaine's cobalt eyes widened in surprise. "So what?" he echoed. "So what happens when she finally realizes there is no Rising Sun? What do you do then? Do you think she's going to hang around after she knows this Indian is dead?" Ben shrugged and shook his head. Then he grinned slightly as he lifted his eyes to Blaine's annoyed face. "Maybe by then she'll have learned to care for me. That's all I can hope for." "I never figured you would let some..high-minded female make a fool of you, Ben." "You're talking about my wife, Blaine," Ben warned. His puppy brown eyes took on a new glint, one that Blaine had seen but few times. "I'd appreciate it if you kept a civil tongue in your mouth when you talk


about Winter." Blaine returned Ben's steady stare, but his body stiffened with anger. Then he swallowed and nodded curtly. "All right, Ben. She is your wife...I'll not forget that in the future. But," he added in a more authoritative tone, "You best not be forgetting this; if Winter or anyone else stirs up trouble with the Cheyenne, she'll answer to me. I won't stand for her...quest...for revenge to start a blood bath in my territory. Understand me?" Without waiting for Ben's reply, Blaine turned on his heel and stalked across the street into Rita's Palace, not even bothering to speak to Winter when he met her coming from the hotel. *** "Ben Barrett's new wife is actually quite lovely. That is who you're watching, isn't it?" The silky feminine voice made Blaine turn from the second story window of Rita's Palace to look at the woman lying on the large bed behind him. "What makes you think I'm looking at her?" he grunted. Rita Malone smiled, revealing a wide-toothed grin, and motioned him back to bed. "Well, I'm sure it isn't Ben that's caught your eye. Wanna tell me about it?" "There's nothing to tell," Blaine answered sourly. With one more glance into the street below, he saw Ben's carriage speeding up the street toward the hills where Ben's cabin and silver mine were located. Then with a sigh, he dropped the lace curtain into place and followed the woman's beckoning finger to the bed. "She's trouble, that's all, maybe more trouble than Ben's seen in his whole life."


"Maybe," Rita agreed quietly. She ran her fingers across the satiny muscles of his wide shoulders, then down across the soft dark hair covering his chest and upper stomach. "Then again, maybe Ben figures she's worth it. A woman who's good in bed makes up for a lot of other shortcomings." Blaine's snort brought a smile to Rita's plump face, emphasizing the space between her front teeth, but also bringing out the warmth in her green eyes. "Blaine, my boy, there's a time for all things and this is not the time to discuss Ben Barrett's new bride. Know what I mean?" The twinkle in Blaine's dark blue eyes offset the sarcasm in his voice when he turned in her arms to gather her close. "Jesus Christ, Rita! Not again! It's not even nine o'clock yet and I'm already wore out." "You? Never, my great warrior," Rita murmured as her lips moved down his body to work their magic again. She gently pushed him back among the pillows and began kissing him, first on the lips, then moving slowly downward across his chest and stomach, until she took his throbbing erection in her mouth and teased him with her talented tongue. Lifting her eyes to watch his face while she sucked and licked his rock-hard shaft, Rita smiled to herself. If there was one thing that she did well, it was taking a man's mind off his problems for awhile. She not only did it splendidly, she had amassed a small fortune doing it. There were few men Rita had known in her years in this business that had proven exceptional. Blaine Dekker was one of them. He was not only her favorite customer, he was a good friend as well. That was why she never charged him for her services; because making love to him was not a job, but a pleasure. Her long nails moved playfully up his chest, then back down, digging slightly into his flesh. Not enough to cause real pain but enough to leave a red mark behind on his copper skin. Her bright red hair fell across his


body. She brushed it out of the way impatiently. In answer to her unspoken request, Blaine reached down to gather the long tresses in one hand and hold it up. Above her energetic head, Blaine's eyes closed for a moment. He swallowed, then reopened his eyes to watch Rita's bobbing head. She was a good twenty years older than him, a little too plump to be really beautiful. He knew her bright red hair was dyed, and that she wore too much make-up in an effort to conceal her advancing age. Still, Rita was the closest thing he had to a real female companion. She refused to take his money because she liked him, but more than that, Blaine actually trusted her. She was warm and caring and open. She was a whore, but she treated her customers with respect and compassion. In a silver boom town where whores were thicker than water, that was no small accomplishment. It was that fact that made her house the most popular and wealthy one in Gold River. Not only did Rita treat her customers as gentlemen, she insisted the girls who worked for her did the same. That was the main factor in her success and the main reason Blaine liked her. His body stiffened with its impending release. Rita lifted gleaming eyes and shook her head. "Oh, no, you don't. Not just yet," she said huskily while sliding up his long, muscular body to settle astride him. She slipped his throbbing shaft inside her, then began a slow, tantalizing rhythm that quickly brought a sheen of perspiration to Blaine's copper skin. Rita opened her narrowed jade eyes to a mere slit, smiling at the pleasure her talented body was giving him, then ran a long forefinger across his damp chest and lifted it to her lips. "Even your sweat tastes good," she purred huskily. "You are the most delicious man, Blaine Dekker. Come now, my great stallion, fuck me!" She felt Blaine tremble beneath her, felt the muscles in his stomach


constrict with the effort to stave off his climax. Then he abruptly flipped her onto her back in one smooth motion. Pinned beneath him, Rita's eyes closed with pleasure. Her body received him completely, her long white legs wrapping around his hips, urging him onward. Several long, deep thrusts later, Blaine groaned, burying himself inside her quivering body. He attempted to get off her then, but Rita's manicured hands held him in place, still buried inside her, until her own quivering stopped completely. Only then did she allow him to withdraw from her and lie down by her side. He drew her into his arms, cradling her head in the hollow of his shoulder while he let out a long, shuddering breath. "Think Ben's red-haired bride could do as well?" Rita asked in a teasing tone a few minutes later. "Think she could make you feel that good?" "What matters is that she makes Ben feel good," Blaine replied shortly. He untangled Rita from his arm and rose to dress. Behind him, Rita stretched out on the silk bedspread as she studied him through half-opened lids. Her gaze appreciated the raw power that made the muscles in his wide copper shoulders bunch as he strapped the leather gunbelt into place and tied it down. His long black hair fell over one eye until he impatiently ran his fingers through it to pull it into place and set the Stetson down over it. Her gaze lingered on the pale pink scars that covered his back and shoulders from his hair line to his buttocks. She had asked him once about them and was promptly told it was none of her business. She had not asked again and Blaine had volunteered no information. Still, she could not help be curious about who had given him such a violent beating, and why. But she knew better than to ask again for the coldness that crept into those remarkable eyes had told her clearly it was a subject he did not wish to discuss--ever.


When she looked again, his shirt was in place and the scars hidden from sight. There was an odd glint in his eyes that lifted her brows with curiosity, made her wonder what was on his mind. "What is it about Mrs. Winter Barrett that has you so steamed up?" she asked finally. "I don't like her." "You don't like a lot of people, but you don't get this wound up over it," Rita pointed out quietly. "What is it, Blaine? Worried about Ben?" "Yeah, that's part of it," Blaine conceded as he turned back to her. "I've always had Ben figured as a level-headed man. I can't understand why he married a woman he knows damned well only married him so she could get a free ticket to Gold River. It's not like Ben." "Maybe Ben's in love." Blaine's scornful snort made Rita smile slightly. "Listen, my friend, just because you don't believe in the emotion is no reason for Ben Barrett not to fall head over heels in love with this woman." Blaine's skeptical look told her he did not believe a word she had said. His eyes narrowed, turned chilly, as he stared at her. "I hope it's worth getting himself killed over," he said shortly. "Because that's just what'll happen if she starts poking her nose into the Cheyenne. They'll not stand still for a white woman asking questions." "Blaine, aren't you looking for trouble where there may not be any?" "Maybe," Blaine agreed with a long breath. "Maybe she'll drop the whole thing after awhile and settle down to having babies like she should. She will if she's smart."


"You say that like you have something in mind if she doesn't," Rita suggested with a raised brow. "I've known Ben a long time. I owe him a lot," Blaine said gruffly while he rearranged the Stetson over his thick black hair. "He saved my life once, years ago, took me in when nobody else would touch me with a ten-foot pole. I'm not about to stand around and let that woman get him killed...and that's exactly what'll happen if she stirs up Two Feathers. God knows it'll take precious little to set Shadow Dancer off. He's just waiting for the right spark and when it comes, he'll have every brave in Two Feathers' kindred out for blood." "You think Half Moon was right about Gordon?" Rita asked seriously, the smile now completely gone in view of Blaine's solemnness. "I have no doubt. The question is, how do I prove it? I've got to find some way to prove Gordon's stealing from the Indians and make it right before Shadow Dancer convinces the young men to break the treaty." "Any ideas?" Blaine's dark head moved in a curt negative motion. He deliberately pushed the old woman's plea from his mind as he walked toward the door. "Not yet, but I'll come up with something. I just hope it's soon enough to prevent a war with the Cheyenne," he grunted sourly as he swung the door open and stepped through it into the hall.

CHAPTER FIVE


Winter's new home was a knoll atop a deep gulch about five miles northwest of Gold River. In the center of the knoll stood Ben's cabin. It was a crude structure of only one room with a lean-to on the eastern side, but it was remarkably well built. It was tightly chalked against the bitter winds and had real glass windows, a rarity among miners who generally regarded such things as a waste of time and an expense not worth the bother. Ben had bought curtains for the windows too, and had picked a hardy bunch of wildflowers for the table to welcome Winter. The efforts touched Winter's heart for it was obvious Ben adored her. Such sincere emotion was so foreign to the girl that she was frightened. It had been years since anyone had truly cared for her so that now she was afraid to fully believe Ben's sincerity for fear it would fade away like the early morning fog that filled the gulch on cold mornings. Two weeks had passed since they had come home to Ben's claim. During that time Winter had worked hard to make the cabin a real home. The braided rug before the stone fireplace had been made a bit at a time from scraps she had saved from her old clothes at the orphanage. The Willoware china had been purchased with the last of her savings before beginning this trip west, but the way it made the table shine was worth every cent of the expense. Ben was very appreciative of her modest efforts to make the cabin more homey. He was deeply touched by the time and trouble Winter had gone to in order to bring these simple things to their home. It deepened his resolve that someday she would have the finest of everything. "There's silver here, Winter. I know it," he assured her one morning two weeks after their arrival at the cabin.


It was a cold morning. Last night's snow still hung on the barren tree limbs like Christmas tinsel as Ben took her arm to help her down the steep, slippery slope to the gaping hole in the side of the gulch. "I was certain I had really hit a rich vein this time," Ben was telling her sadly as he maneuvered her around large outcroppings of rock toward the mouth of the mine. "But the assayer's report came back the same as the last one; enough silver content to make a living...if we're careful...maybe four, five dollars a day...but not the vein I'd hoped for." Winter patted his arm sympathetically. "Then we'll keep digging, Ben, until we find the big one." Ben's haggard face lit up with renewed hope as he pulled her into his embrace to give her a quick hug. "And we will find it, Winter. It's here, I know it's here. It's just a matter of digging in the right spot." "What about equipment, Ben?" Winter asked hopefully. "I've read that miners in Nevada have used new methods to successfully mine underground, even hundreds of feet deep." "That's true," Ben agreed. "But that takes capital, Winter, and lots of it. I've just not got that kind of money right now. Chances are I'll be digging out five dollars a day for a long time before I can save enough for the kind of operation I need to really get the mine going." The depression in his eyes tugged at Winter's heart. She gave him a bright smile and tugged at his arm. "I've just made a pot of fresh coffee and there's apple pie left from supper last night. Come on back to the house and take a break. The silver won't go anywhere." Ben grinned as he took her cold hand in his. Together they climbed back up the the steep bank to the cabin. In the distance they could hear the steady


pounding of picks from the other claims. "Isn't it amazing that something so common is so valuable?" Winter asked while she quickly poured Ben a cup of coffee and set a piece of pie on the table. Ben removed his heavy outer coat and stoked up the cheery fire before coming to take his place at the table. "You mean the blue sand?" "Yes," Winter replied with a smile. She sat down beside him and propped her chin on her hands while he ate, smiling at his enthusiastic appreciation of her cooking. "Just think of all those tons of silver ore thrown away because people thought it was worthless. How fortunate that someone finally realized it's value." Ben nodded in agreement while he chewed the delicious pie. "And what's found on the surface is only the beginning. The real silver is usually deep beneath the ground. That's why it takes so much money to successfully work a mine." Winter's mouth opened to reply, then clamped at the approach of a horse coming up the hill. Ben picked up his rifle and went to the door, then grinned as he turned back to Winter and placed the rifle behind the door. "Well, what do you know? It's Blaine!" he said happily as he flung the door open and stepped into the sunlight. Winter moved to the open doorway, grimacing with irritation. The handsome lawman sat on his pinto pony, his hat pulled down against the chill wind, then handed Ben a large, fat goose. "I got a lucky shot. Thought you might could use the fresh meat," he said to Ben. Ben took the goose as he shot Blaine a beaming smile. He knew this


gesture was as close as the lawman would come to an apology. He was as eager to bury the hatchet as was Blaine. "That's mighty thoughtful, Blaine. Step down. Winter's just made fresh coffee. It sure goes good with a piece of her apple pie. You know, I didn't know what a good cook she was when I married her. I'm a mighty lucky man." Ben's back was turned, leading the way into house, so he missed the hostile glance that passed between Winter and Blaine. Blaine dismounted and dropped the reins over a crude hitching post Ben had set up in front of the house. He took off his hat as he entered the cozy room, his dark blue gaze scanning everything quickly. He was impressed at the homey feel of the place. It had certainly never been this comfortable before, but then Ben had never looked so happy either. In spite of himself, Blaine was pleased things seemed to be working out for his friend. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything," he said with a glance at Winter's cool expression. "Anytime you show up, it's an interruption," she said sweetly. The sugary sarcasm in her voice made Blaine want to laugh, but he swallowed the urge as he accepted Ben's offer of a chair at the table. "Winter, why don't you pour Blaine a cup of this coffee and see if there's any pie left?" Ben suggested in a quick effort to ward off any further comments by either of them. Ben was well aware of Winter's dislike for the lawman. He also understood it. It was perfectly logical that she would dislike and distrust a man who was half Indian in view of what had happened to her as a child. All his efforts to convince her of Blaine's good intentions fell on deaf ears. Winter would not see any further than the coppery shade of Blaine's skin. After several attempts Ben had given up trying to


convince her otherwise. "What brings you up so high in the hills?" Ben asked when Blaine had been served. "I'm sure you're not just goose hunting." "No," Blaine agreed. He put down his fork and reached inside his coat to hand Winter a sealed envelope. "As a matter of fact, Marsh Gordon asked me to deliver this to Winter." Winter's face filled with anticipation as she snatched the envelope from his hand without even bothering to say thank you. While her husband and the lawman watched silently, that eagerness changed to disappointment. She quickly read the contents of the note, then crumpled it into a ball and tossed it into the fireplace. "I guess we can assume Gordon hasn't been able to find your missing Indian." Winter's eyes flashed to Blaine's handsome face. Her lips thinned at the insolence in his voice. "I'm sure that makes you happy, marshal," she snapped angrily. The emotion in her voice forced her to swallow before continuing. "You're right. Mr. Gordon has been unable to find him. It seems the only thing he's been able to learn is that Rising Sun is dead." "Then that's the end of it," Blaine said. "Not quite," Winter contradicted sharply. She enjoyed the frown that came into his face. "I'm not satisfied. I won't believe he's dead. I'd know it if he were. Mr. Gordon is continuing the investigation at my request." "What's it going to take to convince you, Winter?" Blaine asked in a quiet voice. His gaze locked with hers across the room, held her gaze prisoner with its intensity. "What do you want? A dead body? Would


that convince you this man is dead?" "Not just a dead body, marshal. His dead body. I won't give up my search until I have it." The arrogance in Winter's voice made Blaine's teeth grind. The pure challenge in her eyes made his blood pressure rise, made his heart race with impatience. He longed to turn her over his knee and teach her a lesson in manners. "If you keep this up, the only dead body you'll find is your own." "I'm not afraid, marshal. After all, I have you to protect me, don't I? What intelligent savage would dare attack me with you around?" Winter asked sweetly, enjoying the fury that turned his eyes to ice. Blaine did not answer her jabs. Instead, he forced himself to dismiss her entirely and spoke to Ben. "I'd like to see the mine, Ben. I've got a couple of hours; I'll lend you a hand." Ben smothered a grin as he reached for their coats and led the way out of the cabin and down the slope to the mine. He wisely decided not to comment on Blaine's tense exchange with his wife, hoping instead they would eventually resolve their differences without his interference. An hour later Winter tired of her needlepoint and strolled to the top of the gulch. Below she could hear the steady pounding of their picks as Ben and Blaine attacked the rock wall of the mine. It would be dark soon, she thought with a swift glance overhead. Already the sun was disappearing behind the purple horizon, filling the gulch with long shadows. She best be starting dinner. She turned back into the cabin and began peeling potatoes, humming softly to herself. She must really try harder to be civil to that man, she told herself firmly. That he was Ben's friend was obvious. It had come


as a shock to learn Blaine had made the trip to Canon City at Ben's request, to make sure she reached Gold River safely. She also wondered why he'd not bothered to tell her so, especially when she'd been so hateful to him. *** In the darkness of the mine below, Ben finally glanced at Blaine and cleared his throat. "Sorry about Winter's attitude, Blaine. Guess she can't help how she feels." "I gather she blames this Indian for her parents' deaths," Blaine grunted as his pick knocked a chunk from the wall of the mine. "Yeah, it seems this Indian boy and Winter were close friends. He even made her his blood-sister. She's got the scar on her wrist...just like the one you've got. "Anyway, she was just eight when this Rising Sun showed up at the mission, got her father to open the door so the warriors could get inside. Both her parents were killed and she spent the next few years in an orphanage. It must have been hell for her...all alone...nobody that cared about her...taking charity from strangers just to live. It's no wonder she's so bent on revenge." "No wonder," Blaine grunted sourly. Then both men fell silent as they hacked and chipped away at the wall of the mine. A while later they emerged from the darkness of the mine and began the climb back up the slope to the cabin. At the sound of their approach Winter opened the door and produced a basin, clean towels, and a tea-kettle of hot water. Both men were sweaty, covered with the dust of the mine. Even in the chill of the autumn, the hard work and closeness of the mine had prompted them both to remove their shirts while they worked and now


Winter watched silently as they washed the grime from their bodies before putting their shirts back on. In spite of herself, Winter was fascinated at the sight of Blaine's bare upper body. The smooth copper of his skin made goose bumps rise on her arms. The liquid motion of the muscles in his wide shoulders made her heart beat a little faster. Again she wondered, as she had that first night as Ben's wife, if Blaine made love in the dark with all his clothes on. Probably not, she decided while he washed himself in the crisp evening air. A man with a body like that probably wasted no opportunity to show it off, she thought irritably to herself. There was no denying that from the top of his raven hair, all the way down his lean, powerful frame to the dusty leather boots, he was the most perfect example of manhood she had ever seen. The sight of the dark hair on his chest brought a surprised lift of her eyebrows. "I didn't know Indians had body hair," she said without thinking. The instant lifting of his eyes made her face burn, but she refused to look away. "I'm only half Indian," he replied mildly. "My father was a white man, Winter. As I remember he was so hairy, he resembled a grizzly bear." "What happened to him?" she heard herself ask curiously. "He died when I was little. A typhoid epidemic." Blaine surprised himself by answering her question. It was the first time he had spoken to anyone of his white father. It made him feel foolish, uneasy, and he looked away from her curious eyes.


He turned to reach for his shirt, exposing his bare back to Winter. Her startled eyes saw the gruesome mass of scars and her mouth opened to ask him where they had come from when Ben's firm hand on her arm drew her attention. Ben shook his head shortly, clearly indicating he did not want Winter asking anymore questions. She stared at him in surprise, then looked back at Blaine's mangled flesh with a shudder. "Supper's getting cold," she said in a normal tone of voice as she turned toward the door. "Better hurry up. You'll be staying for supper, marshal. It'd be a shame to miss that goose after going to all the trouble of killing it." Ben smiled happily as he followed her inside, It was the first effort Winter had made to be halfway decent to Blaine. Maybe that was a good sign. Maybe he could have his beautiful wife and his friend in the same room without breaking out in a sweat after all. *** At a back table in the Rum 'N Rye Saloon, Marsh Gordon drew up a chair and ordered a beer. His companion glanced around at the noisy crowd as he wet his lips with his tongue. "Well, Willy? How did Barrett's ore assay out?" Marsh prompted over his beer. "Better than I thought, Marsh," the nervous little man replied. He took off his eyeglasses and nervously cleaned them on his tie. "I did the tests twice to make sure, but it assays out at nearly three thousand dollars a ton. Course, there's no way of knowing if he's got ten tons or a few ounces." "Three thousand a ton?" Marsh Gordon whistled, then smiled broadly. "That's damn near as much as the Comstock! What did you tell Barrett?"


"Same as always, Marsh," Willy Cooper assured him. "I told him five dollars a ton. He's got no idea what he's setting on out there." "But we do," Marsh said with a sly grin. "I think I best be making Mr. Barrett an offer for that worthless hole in the ground. It won't be hard to convince him I'm doing him a favor. "I mean, he's got a new wife to take care of now. A couple thousand dollars will go a long way toward that job. Don't you think so, Willy?" Marsh chuckled and lifted his foaming beer mug in a silent toast to his partner.

CHAPTER SIX

A long cold winter slowly passed, bringing forth a spring full of bright mountain flowers and green buds. Spring in the Rockies was as magnificent as winter. The crispness in the air was replaced with a freshness that brought the animals out to slowly investigate their surroundings. Winter's new friends were a family of groundhogs that occupied a spot in her back yard and a family of white-tail deer that had ventured down from the high country in mid-winter searching for food. Winter had spent many lonely winter afternoons bundled up in her heavy coat sitting on the back porch of the tiny cabin watching her furry friends scamper about playfully in the crusty snow. It had been a most


pleasant winter. The most pleasant she could remember in many years. She almost hated to see it come to an end. Those months when the snow drifts made it impossible to go into town for supplies had brought her much closer to Ben. Their relationship now was one of mutual trust and respect. The only bleak point was that Winter had come to accept the fact that though she was fond of Ben and respected him tremendously, she knew she would never love him. But, what was love anyway, she asked herself that bright spring morning as she drove the buggy into town. The snow banks alongside the trail were beginning to melt at last. The air was clean and crisp and filled with the promise of new life. Winter touched her protruding stomach with a smile. She was five months pregnant by her calculations. She had never felt so healthy or quite so happy. It was good to be alive. Even her nightmares had diminished over the winter's solitude. There were now days at a time when Rising Sun did not cross her mind at all. She felt completely at peace with herself and nature. She spent the day shopping for the list of items Ben had written out, then paused for lunch at the hotel. As usual, Gold River was filled to overflowing with drunken miners in town to spend their silver as fast as they could pull it from the ground. Winter had a difficult time avoiding being trampled by them as they made a mad dash for the Hog's Head Saloon when someone announced all drinks were half price. She turned away at the sight of a half dozen girls in scanty attire hanging out in front of Rita's Palace, trying to entice men inside for an afternoon of fun and frolic. Those women always made Winter uncomfortable, not because she felt herself above them, but because she did not understand how they could sell their bodies for money. She had certainly not discovered anything pleasant enough about sex to make her want to pass herself around so liberally among men that


were total strangers. Indeed, Ben still made love with his clothes on, like a fugitive in the dark. She had as yet to see what all the fuss was about. Yet, she was thrilled that their secretive copulation had resulted in the child forming inside her. At least she had something to show for all those frustrating, confusing nights. She was never more confused as when Blaine Dekker made one of his unexpected visits. Several times during the winter he had ridden through the snow drifts to bring them a freshly killed deer or wild goose. It was only these tasty treats his visits provided that made her glad to see him, she told herself firmly. Being in the same room with Blaine set her teeth on edge, made her temper flare at the slightest thing, but it also made her more aware of her femininity. Perhaps it was because he was so handsome that she was acutely aware of her own looks when he was around. Or perhaps it was because whenever she felt those piercing cobalt eyes rest on her, she felt the blood rush through her veins, filling her body with nervous energy. She had never asked him about those hideous scars across his back. She did ask Ben about them that night when Blaine had gone, but Ben did not know how they came to be either. Blaine had never told him and Ben had never asked. He knew only that Blaine refused to discuss his life with the Cheyenne. It was a closed chapter, one he tried to forget and Ben, being the kind of man he was, was content to let it go at that. Winter, however, was not. She was intrigued by the handsome lawman's determined avoidance to discuss his past. It made her more curious, more determined to learn more about him. Perhaps if she came to understand Blaine Dekker, she would have a better understanding of the Cheyenne and thus, enable her to find her quarry. She was climbing into the buggy in preparation to leave town when she


looked up, surprised to find Blaine walking toward her. There was a wary expression on his face, as if he expected one of her barbed jabs. So the look of surprise that crossed his features when Winter smiled and said hello in a friendly tone made her want to giggle. "Where's Ben?" Blaine asked for lack of any other thing to say. "At the mine. He asked me to come into town and pick up a few things for him." The expression of fleeting anger that flashed into his face brought Winter's head up with a snap. "Why? What's wrong?" "There have been half a dozen Indian attacks in the past week. Two stages have been hit and three miners killed a few miles south of your place. You've got no business riding alone. I'll ride back with you." Before Winter could voice the protest that leaped to her throat, he had gathered up his pinto and mounted. As the buggy rolled through the busy city streets, Winter glanced at him, her face suddenly coloring when she realized he was staring at her stomach. The heavy robe she had covered herself with had slipped down during the ride, revealing her obvious condition. "We're going to have a baby," she explained lamely, wondering why she was so embarrassed. "So I see," Blaine observed quietly. For a moment his eyes locked with hers, then he reached up to pull his hat down and looked away. "What are you going to do about it?" He looked at her quickly, then began to grin. "If you mean what am I going to do about you having a baby; nothing, Ben's already done it. Obviously. If you mean what am I going to do about the Indian attacks; I'm doing all I can."


Winter's face slowly broke into an embarrassed smile. His dry humor strangely amused her, made her more comfortable with him. "I was referring to the Indian attacks, of course," she said pleasantly. "I've got ten deputies, Winter," he said with a sideways glance at her. His intense blue gaze studied Winter's face silently, realizing there was something different about her now. There was a new softness in her eyes, in the relaxed muscles of her face. She was really beautiful, he thought, surprised at himself for not having seen it sooner. "Ten men can't properly patrol Gold River, much less take care of outlying areas and all the miners. It's an impossible job. I need an army to do it right." "Then why do you bother with it?" He glanced at the direct gaze from her bright hazel eyes and shrugged. His shoulders moved beneath the royal blue shirt, straining at the shoulders, reminding Winter of the latent power the material covered from view. "It's my job. I don't know...I guess...if I don't do it, who will?" "That fellow on the stage said you used to be a gunfighter." He barely nodded, keeping his gaze locked on hers. "That was a long time ago." "But it led to this job as marshal, didn't it?" Winter quizzed. "Yeah, I guess so. The governor needed someone who was fast with a gun and he offered me the job. That was a couple of years ago. It's worked out pretty well so far, but it's different now." "Because of the Indian trouble?" Again Blaine nodded. His face was solemn and reserved, yet Winter got the


feeling that he was telling her more than he had ever told anyone about himself. It made goose bumps rise on her arms. "Yeah. Locking up drunks and breaking up fights is nothing. You do it and forget about it until the next time. But this trouble with the Indians...it can only get worse...and I can't find any way to stop it. Not yet anyway." "What do you think caused it?" "Marsh Gordon," Blaine told her flatly, noting how her brows shot upward with his answer. "I know you don't like my answer, but it's the truth. Gordon has been shorting the Indians' supplies since he took over the agency. He's taking their food and blankets and selling them to the miners at exorbitant prices. Do you know that coal oil is selling for thirty dollars a gallon? "Gordon is getting rich and the Indians are going hungry. Two Feathers won't take it forever. Eventually he'll fight back, take what his people have been cheated out of. "Plus, he's got a young warrior who wants to be chief. And he'll do damn near anything to get the young braves to follow him." The emotion in his voice made Winter's ears perk up. She almost believed him. "This warrior who wants to start a war; what's his name?" Blaine's sensual lips curled in a half grin "Shadow Dancer. Sorry, Winter, I know that's not the name you were hoping for." "You know a great deal about the Cheyenne for a man who pretends he isn't half Cheyenne himself," she observed solemnly. Blaine stared at her for a moment silently, deciding how to reply. When he spoke at last, his voice was calm, not at all what Winter had


expected. "A man that learns all he can about his enemy is smarter than the man who pretends they don't exist." "You said that very well," Winter said with a thin smile. "Those are my words exactly. I didn't realize you considered the Cheyenne your enemies too." "There's a lot you don't know about me, Winter," Blaine said pleasantly. After a few moments of strained silence, he glanced at her again. "So how do you feel about it, having a baby, I mean?" The softness that flooded her face answered her question long before she put it into words. He looked away from the tenderness that filled her large hazel eyes, suddenly embarrassed. "It's wonderful," Winter said quietly, with a smile. "I never dreamed such a simple thing would make me so happy. It's...it's a perfect way to repay Ben for...for everything." "Repay him? Ben doesn't think he needs to be repaid." "But he does ," Winter explained. "When I first began writing to Ben, when he first proposed to me, the only thing I could think about was having the chance to come back here and start my search for the man who murdered my parents. I'm afraid I was more concerned about myself than I was about Ben. "I realize now that Ben is a wonderful man. He deserves much more than I'm able to give him. The baby...the baby makes up for all my shortcomings." "If you have shortcomings, I don't think Ben's noticed yet," Blaine said seriously. The tone of his voice made Winter lift uncertain eyes to his handsome face, made her wonder what suddenly made him seem almost human.


Then she realized it was their mutual affection for Ben. At least they had some common ground. "What happened to your back?" she asked after a few silent moments. Instantly she felt the barrier spring up around him again. He had thrown up that stone wall of coldness he used as a defense. Blaine stared at her for a few seconds, noting the uncertainty that flashed into her face. She had asked the question without thinking and now wished she hadn't. But surprisingly, he wasn't as offended as he had been in the past when someone happened to see the scars and asked about them. "It was my punishment," he amazed himself by saying. His voice was strained but steady, his eyes direct and unwavering as he returned her curious gaze. "I was banished from the tribe when I was a boy. I committed a crime against the people and the beating was my punishment." "That's terrible!" Winter exclaimed indignantly. "What could you have done that was so awful?" "I broke tribal laws," Blaine replied soberly. "If I had been a man my punishment would have been death. Because I was not yet a man I was beaten and banished from the tribe." "Who could have done such a terrible thing!" "My grandfather," Blaine answered quietly. "He administered the beating himself because he thought an outsider might kill me. The way things have worked out, he may well wish he had let them." Before Winter could ask what he meant by that statement, there was a sudden rustling in the brush lining the trail. Seconds later a half dozen warriors surrounded the buggy. Winter's heart had leaped into her throat at the first sight of the Indians, but she wisely obeyed Blaine's soft spoken command to leave the rifle alone.


"Don't be a fool, Winter," she heard Blaine say in a low voice when she reached for the rifle on the wagon seat beside her. "If they wanted us dead, they'd have killed us by now. So don't press our luck." One warrior was obviously the leader. He was tall and straight with long black hair held back by a colorful scarf tied around his forehead. His glistening torso was a deep copper, his eyes black as midnight, his face streaked with war paint. Winter could hardly hear the warrior's words above the pounding of her heart when he moved his pony forward until he was directly facing Blaine. Fear from eighteen years came washing back over her in waves that threatened to drown her in her own terror. His black eyes touched Winter's pale face. "Your woman?" he asked in a deep throaty voice that chilled Winter's blood. Blaine did not answer right away. In fact, he took so long that Winter began to think he wasn't going to speak at all. The Indian motioned with the rifle hanging over his left arm and asked the question again. "Your woman?" "Yes," Winter heard Blaine say finally. She was astounded at the calmness of his voice and the relaxed manner he returned the Indian's cold stare. "What do you want, Shadow Dancer?" Winter's head snapped to Blaine's cold, impassive features at his reply to the warrior's question. What on earth possessed him to say such a thing? What was he thinking? "My cousin remembers well," the tall warrior said. His black eyes glittered as his gaze ran up and down Blaine's powerful frame. "If it was my wish, you would be dead now, cousin. Your blood would be soaking up the dust like the blood of a dog."


"I don't think my grandfather would be pleased if you killed me, cousin," Blaine replied casually. "You're not going to kill me and risk my grandfather's anger, so tell me what you want." "Your grandfather wishes you to return to the people. He wishes you to take his place at the council," Shadow Dancer said flatly. "It is said you do not wish to return. Is this true?" "It is true. I have no desire to return to the people. My grandfather knows this." "It is well, Blaine Dekker, that you do not wish to take your grandfather's place at the council fire. You are not true Cheyenne. You are unworthy of sitting at the council fire. Your mixed blood makes you unclean." The arrogance in Shadow Dancer's voice made Blaine grit his teeth. It was the same when they were children. Though Blaine was six months the eldest, Shadow Dancer was full blood Cheyenne, and always felt himself superior. Obviously, he still did. "Then what are you worried about?" Blaine asked insolently. "If I'm unworthy, why all this concern? Are you afraid I will answer my grandfather's summons and return to the people?" Fury leaped into Shadow Dancer's ebony eyes. He lifted the rifle until it pointed directly at Blaine's chest, then he smiled. "I am not afraid! Two Feathers is old and sick. He is no longer able to lead the Cheyenne. I will take his place as chief. I will lead my people back to their lands in victory!" "Put that rifle down before I shove it up your ass!" Blaine snapped. "Who the hell do you think you're kidding? Quit trying to impress your braves, Shadow Dancer! So put that stupid gun down. Take your braves and get the hell out of my way!"


Shadow Dancer's copper face darkened with fury, but he slowly lowered the gun. "Stay away from the people, Blaine Dekker!" he warned hoarsely. "I will be chief when Two Feathers dies. Come back and you will die!" With a quick motion to his braves, Shadow Dancer whirled his pony into the brush and was gone as quickly as he'd appeared. When the rustling stopped, Winter turned amazed eyes to Blaine's impassive face. Now that the immediate danger had passed, her heartbeat resumed as her limbs began trembling at the realization of how close they had come to being killed. He clucked to the team and began moving once more, apparently ignoring the shocked expression on Winter's face. "Who was that?" she blurted out finally. "What was this all about? What's going on, Blaine?" "That was Shadow Dancer. He has illusions about being war chief of the Cheyenne nation," Blaine told her sarcastically, but Winter knew his biting sarcasm was not directed at her. "He's your cousin?" "Yeah, sort of. His mother and my mother were half-sisters." Winter stared at him silently, her eyes large and surprised. Slowly the amazed expression on her face faded into suspicion. "He said he would become chief of the Cheyenne when Two Feathers died. Two Feathers is your grandfather, Isn't he?" Blaine did not answer. Instead he looked away, down the trail in front of them. Winter saw the tension slowly fill his face, saw his wide shoulders stiffen as in preparation for a fight. "All this time you could have helped me find Rising Sun," she said


slowly while her eyes accused him mercilessly. "All this time you've had access to information no one else has, and you deliberately kept it from me. How can you call Ben your friend?" Blaine abruptly reined his pony to a halt, whirling the animal around so that he could face Winter's accusations directly. The chill that had come into his eyes brought a flash of sudden alarm to Winter's furious mind. "My friendship with Ben has nothing to do with this!" he said coldly. His voice was soft, low-keyed, but there was no mistaking the dangerous edge in it. He was closer to losing his temper than Winter had ever seen him and she suspected it had as much to do with the revelations he made of himself before the appearance of the Cheyenne warriors as it did with her accusations. "My past relationship with Two Feathers, or the whole goddamned Cheyenne nation for that matter, is none of your business! Can't you get that through your thick head? I will not help you pursue a ghost! Rising Sun does not exist! What does it take to make you listen?" "You knew him, didn't you?" Winter breathed. "You knew Rising Sun! That's why you won't help me find him!" "I won't help you because there's nothing to find! I've told you that at least a hundred times. Rising Sun has been dead for years! It's just that simple and you'll have to accept it sooner or later and I'd rather it be sooner; before you get yourself or Ben hurt!" "That's not the reason at all!" Winter contradicted angrily. "You've got a grudge against your people and you refuse to ask their help. That's all it is!" "Don't ever call the Cheyenne my people!" Blaine's eyes pierced through Winter's anger. They blazed with cold blue fury. Even the cords in his neck protruded, the pulse beating so


wildly that Winter could see it from her perch on the buggy seat. She had stepped over the limit of patience that Blaine had in short supply at best. Drawing a long, shuddering breath, she lifted her head and sent him a scalding glare. "I'll see myself home, thank you! If you won't help me with what's really important, I certainly don't need your help for such a simple task as driving myself home!" She flicked the reins against the team's backs and moved forward, then suddenly stopped, twisting in the seat to stare back at Blaine over her shoulder. "And just why did you tell that heathen that I was your woman?" she demanded furiously. The question had been on her mind ever since Shadow Dancer asked it and Blaine took so long answering and now, with him already furious with her, she figured she might as well ask it. "Because he would have killed you on the spot if I'd said you weren't," was Blaine's cold reply. The alarm that replaced the anger in Winter's face gave him a savage thrill of pleasure. It sort of helped make up for the all the barbs she'd given him over the past months. "Shadow Dancer hates me, but more importantly, he's afraid of me, and he's afraid of my grandfather. Two Feathers is an old man, but he still has tremendous influence at the council. Shadow Dancer would not dare harm me, or someone close to me. Not yet, not as long Two Feathers lives. "But a woman who did not mean anything to me would still be open season. So I'm sure even you can understand why I told him you were my woman. Believe me, it was just as repugnant to me as it was to you!" He jerked the pinto around, applying his heels to the pony's flanks, disappearing amid a shower of sand and pebbles back down the trail to Gold River.


All Winter could do was stare after him with her mouth open in shock. Finally a squirrel high in the pines above her chattered to break the spell. Casting a nervous glance around her at the gently swaying bushes, she spoke to the team and hurried toward the cabin. She'd had all the excitement she could stand for one day.

CHAPTER SEVEN

By early April the Rockies were in full bloom. A dozen varieties of wild flowers covered the steep slope from the cabin to the mine in the gulch below. A dozen more covered the sharp incline below the mine that eventually became the bed of a trickling mountain stream. Winter was now six months pregnant. Her activities were limited now to housework and needlepoint as she eagerly prepared a layette for the child she expected in early August. She was rarely able to walk down to the mine with Ben now for the melting snow made the slope slick and dangerous. Even so, her days were pleasant. She took short walks around the more level ground near the cabin, enjoying the bright sunshine and the antics of her furry friends in the high oak trees that grew thickly around the edge of the clearing where the cabin set. She was hanging out wash on a bright Saturday morning the first week of April when the sound of an approaching horse caused her to look up warily. For the past month Indian attacks had increased on the miners along the ridge. Five men had now been killed by these random attacks


and everyone's nerves were constantly on edge. Her lips thinned with irritation when Blaine's pinto broke through the trees into sight. The lawman had not been to the cabin since that bitter parting the day he was confronted by Shadow Dancer's party. The sight of him now caused Winter's hazel eyes to narrow with contempt. "You're not welcome here!" she snapped when the pony halted a few feet from her clothesline. Blaine's intense gaze flicked over her quickly, noting the melon-like protuberance of her stomach. The heated indignation in her eyes told him she had not forgiven his refusal to aid her search for the Indian she hated so bitterly. Still, that tenderness he had seen in her before lingered in the full lips, the curve of her satin cheek. Even in a shabby house dress and barefoot, Blaine saw the beauty in her face and body, despite her growing pregnancy. "Is that merely your personal opinion or is it Ben's too?" he asked coolly. Winter glared up at him, squinting into the mid-day sun. He sat casually on the pinto, his hat pushed back, his hands folded over the saddlehorn. Not only was he the most obnoxious man she'd ever met, he had no common courtesy. No one with the slightest amount of dignity would come to a home where he knew he was not welcome. "My own!" she replied scornfully. "Good!" Blaine replied as he swung down from the saddle and draped the reins over her laundry basket. "I didn't come to see you." Without giving Winter the chance to reply, he turned on his heel, heading for the mine. She watched him sprint down the slippery slope like an antelope. It wasn't fair, she fumed inwardly, that he had the easy grace of a gazelle when she was so clumsy she could hardly walk


around her own kitchen without knocking things over. "Ben!" Blaine called as he approached the mouth of the mine. "Ben, are you in here?" Moments later Ben's grimy, sweat streaked face emerged into the light. "Well, Blaine!" he called cheerfully. "It's good to see you. It's been a while. I've missed your visits." "I don't normally go where I'm not wanted. I wouldn't be here now if there wasn't something I have to ask you about." The sober, almost unfriendly tone of the lawman's voice stopped Ben in his tracks momentarily. His expression quickly changed from happy to confused. The tenseness he saw in Blaine's serious features told him immediately that the man was concerned over more than just Winter's blatant dislike. "What's on your mind?" Ben asked quietly. He reached into the back pocket of his overalls to take out a soiled handkerchief and begin wiping at the grime on his face. "I heard in town that Marsh Gordon made you an offer for your claim." "Yeah, that's right; he did. I turned him down flat," Ben replied, puzzled. "Did he give you a reason for his offer?" Ben's head moved in a slow negative motion while he scratched at his chin. "No, not really. He said something about me needing more money than the mine can produce, what with the baby coming and all. I was real surprised when he rode out here that evening and made me the offer. Never knew Marsh was concerned with other folks' problems much."


"What did he say when you told him you didn't want to sell?" "Just wished me luck and said if I changed my mind to let him know. Why? What's this all about, Blaine?" "Gordon's up to something. I know it. I can feel it," Blaine said, more to himself than Ben. He took off his hat and ran his fingers through his thick black hair while he took a look around. It was peaceful here, even with the steady pounding of picks from other claims that echoed along the ridge. "I got the governor to order an investigation into Gordon's books at the Indian agency. They came up dry. Couldn't find one damned thing wrong. Yet I know he's selling the supplies that belong to the Indians to the miners and making a fortune in profits." Ben studied his irritated features silently, then cleared his throat. "That the reason the Indians are straying so far north and raising cane?" "They're hungry. It's been a long, hard winter and there's no buffalo left. These hills are so full of miners all the wild game is just about gone. It's just a matter of time until all hell breaks loose." "Like '62 when Winter's folks got killed?" Ben suggested. Blaine nodded curtly, glancing around the gulch once more. "Yeah, only worse," he agreed gruffly. "What's really eating at you, boy?" Ben asked in that insightful way he had that always made Blaine uneasy. "You thinking maybe that if you did what your grandfather wanted, you might be able to prevent this Indian war we're headed for?" Blaine's gaze flashed to Ben's solemn face, then quickly away. The toe of one boot scraped aimlessly in the loose gravel at his feet. Then he slowly shook his head. "There's nothing I could do that Two Feathers


hasn't already done," he said hoarsely. "The Cheyenne won't follow a half-breed anymore than whites will. The young braves are spoiling for a fight and sooner or later they'll get enough courage up to ignore Two Feathers' wishes. I can't change that." "Winter's convinced that you know this Indian she's hunting," Ben observed thoughtfully. "She's real sore that you refused to help her." "She'll get over it," Blaine grunted. Ben stared at him silently for a few moments, then his face broke slowly into a fond smile. "I'm getting ready to blast a new shaft. Want to give me a hand?" Blaine's face relaxed, as if he had been concerned that Ben had more to say on the subject of Winter's dogged search for her enemy. She had obviously told him all about their encounter with Shadow Dancer, for Ben knew about his grandfather's desire for him to return to the tribe and his cousin's equal desire that he should not. Jesus Christ! he thought irritably to himself as he followed Ben into the mine opening. Didn't he have any privacy anymore? Blaine watched Ben double check his explosives. In the uneven surface of the rock Ben had drilled three holes about two feet apart, arranged in a rough triangle. He had also drilled a relief hole at the top, edger holes on both sides, and a lifter hole at the bottom. If timed properly, the center charges exploded first, making a cavity into which the later blasts from the top and sides squeezed the surrounding rock. Finally the lifter charge at the bottom blew the rubble out into the tunnel where it could easily be taken away in carts. The charges were all connected to a fuse consisting of a core of powder surrounded by twisted strands of jute, wrapped with a layer of twine, then wrapped again on the outside with waterproof tape. The fuse was flexible enough to be wound over a spool and carried.


When Ben was satisfied the charges were properly set, he picked up the spool of fuse and led the way back outside. Setting down the spool, he cut the fuse with his pocket knife and glanced up at Blaine. "Ready?" When Blaine nodded, he struck a match and lit the fuse. Scrambling up, they ran for cover behind the supply shed several yards from the mine. Several seconds passed while the fuse burned toward the blasting charges. When the fire disappeared into the black mouth of the mine, Blaine covered his ears. Seconds later the charges exploded, spewing rock fragments and black smoke from the hole, making the ground beneath their feet tremble. Ben grinned as he got to his feet, wiping the blowing dust from his face. He resembled a raccoon; only his eyes showed through the heavy layer of dust and smoke that covered his face. "That should've done it," he announced cheerfully, walking back into the mine. Blaine followed him, rubbing absently at his eyes. Then he stopped, his eyes trained on a distant sparkle among the trees at the far side of the gulch. Instinct brought the hair at the back of his neck upright with warning. Shadow Dancer, he thought warily, cursing himself for bringing danger to Ben and Winter, for he knew the glint of sunlight off a rifle barrel when he saw it. Then the second explosion came. Blaine was only a few feet from the mine's entrance when the second blast roared through the cavern, belching smoke and tossing huge chunks of rock about as if they were pebbles. The force of the explosion knocked Blaine down, crushing the breath from his lungs as the ground shook violently. He lost consciousness, lying in the shower of debris like a limp rag doll.


Winter heard the first explosion, but went about hanging up her wet laundry with hardly a thought. Ben had been blasting at the rock wall for nearly a week now so sure was he that a rich vein of silver lay behind it somewhere. She was humming to herself, enjoying the warmer weather in spite of Blaine Dekker's unwelcome visit, when the ground beneath her pitched and rolled with the force of the second blast. She grabbed onto the elm tree that held up one end of her clothesline to keep her balance, her head snapping toward the billowing cloud of black smoke belching up from the gulch below. "Ben!" she screamed frantically, flinging aside the wet shirt in her hands, and ran for the edge of the gulch. "Ben!" she screamed again as she began descending the sharp incline. The wet grass beneath her feet gave way, sending her tumbling down the grassy slope, slowly at first, then faster and faster. She clutched at the stems of wildflowers trying to break her fall, but they came loose from the damp earth. Bright lights exploded behind her eyes as she landed at the bottom of the slope. She struggled to her feet and limped toward the half-filled entrance of the mine. While intuition told her Ben was inside, her heart screamed that it couldn't be. No one could have survived an explosion like that. She fell to her knees in front of the mine. Sobs ripped from her throat, tears blinded her, yet she tore at the rocks blocking the entrance. The skin on her fingertips tore, her palms became slick with blood, but she did not notice. Pain seared up her arms when her nails split and peeled back, yet she continued tearing at the rock wall, screaming Ben's name. Then a pain ripped through her abdomen like a bolt of lightning. She


gasped for breath, shaking her head to clear the string of lights that exploded behind her eyelids. Before the last dregs of the first pain faded, another took its place, tearing through her body, reducing her screams to muffled sobs of despair. She rocked back on her heels, stunned by the force of the pains, then fell onto her side as a thick dark cloud hovered just above her, threatening to sweep her away. She did not know how long she lay there unconscious. Slowly she became aware of a floating sensation. She forced her eyes open, but could not focus. Then her disconnected brain told her she was being carried. She tried to speak but only ragged whimpers passed her lips. Then she was laid down gently in the shade of a giant pine, a few yards from the mine. "Ben?" she whimpered hopefully. "Ben, the pain...1 can't stand...the pain..." "Come on, Red," she heard a man's voice say from somewhere far above her in the dark fog. "Don't give up on me, Red! You can make it! I'm going to get you to town, to a doctor! It'll be all right! Come on, goddamn you! Fight! Don't give up!" Through the agonizing pain and the cloud of blackness that surrounded her, Winter recognized Blaine's hoarse voice. Her eyes fluttered open momentarily, then closed. She did not have the strength to hold them open any longer. She felt something cool against her forehead when Blaine raced to the stream at the foot of the gulch to wet his handkerchief in the icy water, then applied it to her forehead. The widening stain of bright red blood between her thighs told him all too clearly what was happening. He shook her, trying to make her stay awake, but Winter was too tired, too badly injured to respond.


Her mind heard him, knew he was talking to her, but no words could get past the terrifying fog that receded only when the blinding shafts of pain tore through her. Her dark brows raised wonderingly, puzzled by the tenderness in his voice as he lifted her in his arms and began scrambling up the slope toward his horse. Surely the pain and the shock had addled her brains, she thought vaguely. Blaine Dekker disliked her just as much as she disliked him. "Dear God! Don't die on me, Red! Please! Don't give up. It'll be all right. I swear it will! I won't let anything happen to you. Just hang on till I can get you to a doctor! Please, don't die!" Blaine knew she couldn't hear him, but still he kept talking to her all the way up the slick, grassy slope. He absently rubbed blood from his eyes from the nasty gash in his head caused by a flying rock. He'd known with one glance at the mine shaft that Ben was dead. He also knew Winter was losing the baby. He had not cried in years, but now streams of tears cut through the dirt and grime on his face as he carried Winter's limp body to his horse. His throat burned and his chest ached with the realization that Ben was gone. His only true friend was most certainly dead and there had been nothing he could do to stop it. Winter's blood soaked through her clothes and wet the saddle beneath her. Ben's unborn child was dead too, Blaine thought miserably and he hadn't been able to do anything about that either. But Winter was alive. His eyes narrowed with determination while he spurred the pinto into a dead run through the trees onto the trail leading into Gold River. Winter was alive and he could do something about that; he could keep her that way. That was the least he could do for Ben. He'd protect Winter, even if she fought him every single step of the way. Even if it meant his own life.


He would not let her die as Rising Sun had let her parents die so many years before...Rising Sun had only been a boy; he was a man. He swore on Ben's life that he would let nothing harm Winter from that moment on.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Winter lapsed in and out of consciousness for almost three days. She became delirious with fever caused from the miscarriage and was dangerously close to death. It was only her general good health and her remarkable will to live, Dr. Miller told Blaine, that saved her. On the afternoon of the third day, her eyes fluttered open and gradually began to focus. She felt sore all over, as though all her muscles were strained. Her head ached dully and when she managed to lift one hand to her forehead, she was surprised to find it swathed in bandages. After a moment of disorganization, the memory of that awful morning flooded back. Both hands flew to her stomach, searching for the reassuring roundness that would tell her the baby had survived that dreadful fall. A muffled whimper slipped from her throat when she realized it had not. Her flat stomach told her much too clearly that her baby was dead. At the first sound from Winter's anguished lips, a stout figure scurried to her bedside and took a chair next to the bed. Winter's face turned in


surprise to see whose warm, comforting hand had taken hers in a reassuring squeeze. "Don't you fret none," a soft comforting voice told her. "You had us all worried for a while, but you're going to be just fine." Winter swallowed past the enormous lump in her throat and stared at the woman beside her whose blazing red hair and heavy make-up could not detract from the compassion in her dark green eyes. "W-where am I?" she was finally able to ask. "You're safe. You're at my place in town. I'm Rita Malone." "How did I get here?" "Blaine brought you here after the accident," Rita explained gently. "Doc Miller says he saved your life." "Ben's dead, isn't he?" Winter whimpered. Her eyes filled with tears, but she rapidly blinked them away. "I'm afraid so, dear." "And my baby too." Winter's voice was flat, without emotion as though she had gone cold and empty inside. Still, a shudder of pain shot through her at Rita's nod of confirmation. She began to cry, softly, without any sound. Tears ran down her cheeks into the fluffy white pillow beneath her head. She had known, even before Rita told her, that her husband and her child were gone, but somehow she had clung to a thin thread of hope, praying it was all some terrible nightmare that she would awake from and find everything just as it had been. But it was true. She would have to accept it. She was once more totally alone in the world. Ben, good, gentle Ben was gone. Her baby


that she had made such plans for was gone, dead even before it had a chance to live. Once more life had dealt her a crippling blow. How many more could she endure? How many times could she witness the total annihilation of everyone dear to her and survive? How much more could God expect her to suffer? She was dimly aware that Rita had poured her a cup of tea. The stout little woman moved to the side of the bed, slipped an arm under Winter's head and lifted her at the same time raising the steaming cup of tea to the girl's trembling lips. "Here, now, dear. Drink this. It'll make you feel better," Rita promised soothingly. Winter took a hesitant sip of the refreshing tea, then another at Rita's gentle insistence. Slowly her tears stopped and her eyelids drooped sleepily as the laudanum-laced tea did its work. In minutes she was once more lost in a deep sleep *** When Winter awoke again the shades were pulled, the room illuminated by a lone Tiffany lamp placed on a table beside her bed. She stirred restlessly, then gave a gasp of surprise. Blaine Dekker was asleep in the chair beside her bed, his dark head tilted backward and resting on the brocade-covered back of the wing-back chair. He looked tired. Fatigue made his handsome face seem older, less in control than she had ever known him to be. There was a massive purple bruise above his left eye extending into his hairline where Winter could see the neat, white stitches that closed an ugly gash. His hands were folded over his chest, his long legs stretched out before him. He looked different asleep, she decided. More relaxed,


less dangerous. Off guard in a manner she knew he never let himself be caught when he was awake. Somehow it made him all the more mysterious. She stirred beneath the covers. Instantly his eyes flew open as he sat upright in the chair. "Red!" he exclaimed, surprised that he had drifted off to sleep. He rubbed at his eyes like a small boy would have done, then swallowed. He seemed to be looking everywhere but at her, as though he was embarrassed. "Have you been there all night?" she asked. She pulled herself up higher on the pillows, tucking the covers securely under her chin as she bit back the gasp of pain that shot through her right foot. "No, of course not," Blaine denied quickly. "Just a couple of hours so Rita could get some sleep." Winter had the feeling he was lying; not from his words, but from the uncomfortable way he kept squirming in the chair. The second his eyes opened to find she was awake, his guard had been thrown up again. The tension was back in his face, making the cobalt eyes cool and appraising. Still, the weariness in his features convinced her he had been watching over her much longer than he wanted to admit. "That woman...Rita? Told me you saved my life," she said softly. Her eyes filled with tears, her chin began to tremble, but her fingers clinched in the silk sheets with the effort to remain in control. Blaine did not speak. He swallowed again and looked toward the shuttered window. The pain in her eyes was too much for him. He couldn't stand to see how badly she was suffering. He felt helpless, as he had when he realized Ben was dead. He was unaccustomed to that feeling; he hated being unable to control a situation, yet he couldn't think of a single thing to say.


Winter was touched by the confused, pained expressions fleeting through his face. She realized that in his own way, Blaine had cared deeply for Ben and was hurting too, he just didn't know how to express it. Without thinking, she slid one hand across the sheets and placed it over his. Blaine's face snapped back to hers immediately, the dark blue eyes wide with surprise. He looked down at her small bandaged hand covering his on the edge of the bed, then back up at her face. Yet, he made no effort to pull away from her comforting gesture. Instead he sat stiffly, staring at her and wishing he could say something that would ease her pain. "Did Ben have a proper funeral?" Winter asked in a quivering, squeaky voice. Blaine's dark head nodded emphatically, causing the silky raven mane to shimmer in the lamp's glow. "Yes, I took care of it," he said gruffly, then swallowed again. "Thank you," Winter said softly. Blaine pulled away from her touch and got to his feet. He moved toward the door in a hurry, as though he needed to escape, then halted at Winter's voice. "Blaine, don't go yet. I'd like to talk to you," she said in a stronger voice. He turned slowly, his eyes full of suspicion, as if he expected another of her sharp tongued barbs. "Doc Miller says for you to rest," he said warily. Winter's head nodded in understanding. She swallowed, blinking back tears while she tried to smile. It was a wobbly, damp smile at best, but


it was more than Blaine could resist. "I want to talk about Ben," she told him in a quivering voice. "I want you to tell me about him. You said he saved your life once; I'd like to hear about it." "Winter, look," Blaine hedged uneasily. "Ben's gone and talking about him isn't going to change that. Maybe it's best if you don't dwell on..." "No, I need to know all I can about him," Winter disagreed quietly. She raised damp, but determined hazel eyes to his face as she motioned to the chair he'd vacated. "It's important to me, Blaine. I knew him such a short time. And I know you are..were..very fond of him. Please," she added with a tiny, uneven smile. "Can't you stay for a little while?" For the first time in his life Blaine was unable to resist a woman's plea. He stared at her across the room for a second, then Winter saw his resolve melt as he came back to sit down beside her. "All right," he said gruffly, "But I don't see how this is going to help." Winter drew a long, shuddering breath and stirred beneath the covers. "Tell me how Ben saved your life," she suggested. Blaine did not look at her. Instead, he kept his eyes trained on a large mural above her bed when he answered her question. It seemed indecent, he thought to himself, that they were talking about Ben while he was staring at a mural of a dozen dancing, naked women running through a rose garden. Where did Rita find these things? Still, he could not tear his eyes from the picture, could not make himself look Winter in the eyes. That hurt, crippled expression on her face sent a stab of pain right through him that made his hands curl into fists on the chair arms. "Ben found me...after I was banished from my village," he said in a


strained, nervous voice. "I was hurt, near dead, I guess, from the beating. Ben...Ben took me home with him, took care of me. When I was stronger, he let me stay with him, gave me new clothes, taught me how to live like a white man." "You must have been very young," Winter prompted from the pillows. "I was old enough to make it on my own. When I was well enough and had learned enough from Ben to get by in the white man's world, I struck out on my own." "And Ben never asked what had happened to you in that village? Never asked what you did that was so dreadful that your own grandfather almost beat you to death?" "No, he never asked," Blaine said, swinging his gaze to her face. "Ben and I had an understanding; I didn't want to talk about it and he didn't ask questions. That's how we managed to remain friends as long as we did." Winter studied his solemn, unsmiling features in silence. Finally she nodded and wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. "Did Ben tell you how we became acquainted?" she asked. "He just said he'd got your address from this guy who had gotten himself a mail-order wife." "I was working at a hospital in St. Louis when Ben first began writing to me," Winter offered quietly. "At first I didn't take it seriously...just some lonely man who needed someone to talk to...then I gradually realized that Ben was serious. "He wrote such wonderful letters," she added with a fond smile at the memory. "He described Gold River and its people and the silver mine. He talked about his dreams and how he was so certain they would all


come true. He was a wonderful man. I'm very grateful that he cared about me. I didn't deserve it." "You didn't care about him? Is that what you're saying?" Blaine asked with a raised eyebrow at the curious note in her voice. "Yes, I cared about him, I cared a great deal," Winter contradicted. Then her pale cheeks pinkened with embarrassment and she looked away from Blaine's inquisitive expression. "But I didn't love him, if that's what you mean. I was very fond of him. I respected him tremendously, and I tried very hard to make him happy, but there were certain areas of our marriage that weren't as..as..satisfying as I'd hoped for." Blaine's brows lifted at the embarrassment that stained her cheeks. He knew what she was referring to, felt it was disloyal to Ben to even be discussing such a private matter, but the almost frantic expression that came into her eyes told him it was also a matter that weighed heavily on her mind. Something she was compelled to talk about and he was the only available pair of ears. "Winter, I don't think I ought to be hearing this..." he began uneasily but Winter was driven. "I don't know what I expected," she went on as if he hadn't spoke at all. "I guess I thought I would hear violins and music. But...it wasn't like that. Oh, Ben was sweet and considerate...and I'm grateful for that...but he made me feel that making love was something to be ashamed of. Like it should only be done in the dark, secretively, and he never spoke of it. Never said one single word to me when it was happening. He never kissed me. He even kept all his clothes on, every time." Her voice trailed off as tears welled up in her throat. They spilled from


beneath her thick lashes and ran down her cheeks in silver streams. She brushed at them irritably, then looked at Blaine again. "Was it me?" she asked anxiously. "Was it something about me that caused him to act like that? Was he ashamed of me?" "No," Blaine reassured her quickly. His intense blue eyes locked with hers, holding her gaze with his intensity. "You must not ever think that. Ben was crazy about you. You were all he ever talked about. Whatever problems there were, they were Ben's problems, Winter, not yours." Winter stared at him silently, hoping he was right, but still afraid to let herself believe it. Then she swallowed and touched her flat stomach under the covers. "I wanted this baby so much...to show Ben how much I wanted our marriage to succeed. He was so proud, so happy when I told him. Now, that's gone too. I don't even have the child to give his memory to." She continued to cry wretchedly, covering her face in her hands. Sobs broke from her chest in great tearing gasps that made her body begin to shake. Blaine sat beside her, wishing he could do something, but not knowing what it was. Then suddenly Winter reached for him, her outstretched arms telling him what she needed more clearly than any words could have. He slipped onto the edge of the bed and took her in his arms, cradling her gleaming chestnut head against his chest. Winter rose upright in bed, her slender arms encircling his neck. She pressed tightly against him, needing the strength he seemed to have in such supply. Her tears wet the front of his shirt, her warm breath raised goose-bumps on the copper flesh at the base of his throat. After a long time Winter's tears slowed, the sobs receding to hiccups as she spent herself. Her weary eyes drooped, then closed in sleep.


She whimpered Ben's name softly several times, then settled down beneath the covers with a deep sigh when Blaine laid her back into place among the pillows. When he was assured that she was asleep, he tucked the covers around her neck and smoothed several locks of hair away from her face. Then he seemed to realize what he doing and straightened up with a tense, almost angry expression passing through his face. "What kind of fool, are you?" he asked himself aloud in a gruff voice. "She just needed somebody's shoulder to cry on, that's all! No white woman, especially this one, will ever look at you as anything but what you are--a Cheyenne half-breed. "You best not be forgetting that!" he told himself sternly. "That's the same mistake Rising Sun made, remember? No matter what you try to be on the inside, you're still Indian outside. Don't forget it!" With a last glance to make sure that Winter was comfortable, he turned on his heel and walked rapidly from her room into the darkened hallway beyond. *** A few steps from Winter's door Blaine came face to face with Marsh Gordon. The Indian agent carried a nosegay of spring flowers in one hand, his gray Stetson in the other. "It's a little late for a social call, isn't it?" Blaine asked sarcastically. "I came to see Mrs. Barrett," Marsh answered stiffly. The open hostility in Blaine's face told him he was unwelcome here, but he ignored it. "I understand she's feeling better." "She's awake, or she was, if that's what you mean. She's asleep now. I don't want her disturbed."


Marsh's brows rose in surprise. "Oh? And who appointed you her legal guardian?" he replied curtly. "I did," was Blaine's tense response. His eyes never left Gordon's, boring into the agent's eyes until Gordon felt cold sweat bead up on his forehead. "Well, I'll come back in the morning when she's awake then," Marsh said, turning away. "Just a minute, Gordon," Blaine said, moving closer. His eyes narrowed at Gordon's nervous features, darkening with contempt. "You may have been able to cover up your crooked dealing with the Indians, for the time being. But don't get too comfortable. "You see, I know you're cheating them. I know you're selling the supplies you're cheating them out of to the miners, and I will find a way to prove it. You'll make a slip, eventually, and when you do, I'll be there. "And there's one more thing," he added when Gordon attempted to get away. "If I find out that you had anything to do with Ben Barrett's death, you better pray I remember what this tin star I'm wearing means." "What are you insinuating, Dekker?" Marsh flared angrily. "Are you trying to accuse me of something? Because if you are, you better be able to back it up!" "I'm not insinuating anything, Gordon," Blaine drawled with a menacing smile. "I'm merely saying that there are a few too many coincidences surrounding Ben's death. I don't think that second explosion was an


accident. I think it was planned and carried out by someone that wanted Ben dead. And as soon as I know who had something to gain by killing Ben, I'll know who to come after. I hope it's you, Gordon," he added softly. The contempt in those icy blue eyes made Marsh lick at his lips nervously. He tried to think of something to say, to defend himself against the lawman's conclusions, but could not think of a thing. Finally he turned and hurried back along the hallway, his steps getting faster and faster until he was almost running when he reached the stairway leading down into the parlor. He had to think of something, fast. Before Dekker pinned Ben Barrett's accident on him. His gray eyes lit up as he crossed the crowded parlor in the direction of the front door. Of course! He had the answer! Why hadn't he thought of it sooner? He glanced at his watch, then up the darkened street. And there was still time tonight to take care of it.

CHAPTER NINE

Marsh Gordon was as good as his word. He appeared at Winter's door at nine o'clock the next morning with the bouquet of flowers in hand as well as a box of chocolates he'd found at one of the mercantiles in town. Winter was lying in bed, staring morosely out the window. Rita had


pulled the drapes back at sunrise, hoping the sunlight and warm spring morning would lift the girl's spirits. Indeed, she had spent a long time looking about her, studying the room in which she lay. Rita's Palace was designed for pleasure, not for recuperation. The mural on the wall above Winter's bed was only one of the items that revealed the room's true purpose. The high, four-poster bed was made of hand-carved oak with large posters and a bright pink canopy that matched the quilted spread and silk sheets on which Winter lay. She had tried to get out of bed, but soon realized she had a badly sprained ankle. Putting the foot to the floor one time was enough to convince her she was unready to leave the bed, so she'd slipped back between the warm covers and turned her attention to the bustling sounds on the street below as Gold River came to life outside. Many times tears came unbidden to her eyes when her thoughts turned to Ben and her lost child, but Winter quickly wiped them away. The time for tears was past, she told herself sternly. The past had resolved itself; she now had to decide what to do with her future. When Marsh Gordon knocked on her door, she quickly smoothed her hair and tucked the covers up higher around her throat. She called for her visitor to enter, then forced a smile when Marsh walked into the room and presented her with his gifts. She attempted to take them, then lifted both bandaged hands toward him with an apologetic shrug. "My dear, Mrs. Barrett, please allow me to extend my condolences for your terrible loss," Marsh said. He laid the flowers and the box of chocolates on the lamp table beside the bed and bent to kiss the back of each bandaged hand. "Thank you, Mr. Gordon," Winter said with a weak smile, then offered him the empty wing-backed chair. "How kind of you to stop by."


"I came by earlier but Marshal Dekker told me you were asleep and unable to have visitors," Marsh replied as he slipped into the chair and gave her his most charming smile. "I must say that I'm a bit surprised by Marshal Dekker's protectiveness of you. It's quite out of character for him to be so concerned about anyone that isn't Indian." "Oh?" Winter asked with raised brows. "Oh yes," Marsh went on smoothly. "It's common knowledge around town that he hasn't left your bedside for more than a few minutes since the accident, and only then when it was absolutely necessary. Not like him at all." "He was very fond of Ben," Winter replied, wondering why Gordon's slick statement seemed to hide more than it revealed. "He's been concerned about my health, Mr. Gordon, because he cared for my husband." "Oh course," Marsh murmured, then smiled charmingly again. "It's just a bit surprising to learn that Blaine Dekker is capable of caring about anyone that doesn't wear feathers and carry a quiver of arrows. I'm afraid his Indian blood has been surging to the surface quite a lot lately." "What do you mean by that?" Winter asked, wide-eyed and suddenly filled with alarm. Gordon's wide shoulders moved in a nonchalant shrug. "Just that he's done everything possible to harass and embarrass me. He's had my department investigated, all my books checked, and when everything came out as honest as it could possibly be, he threatened me. Said he'd find some way to prove I'm cheating the Indians." "Are you?" Winter asked coolly. Marsh looked surprised, then began to chuckle softly. "Of course not,


my dear Mrs. Barrett. The Cheyenne and Arapaho are getting every single thing they deserve. "Marshal Dekker just wants to shift the blame for these savage attacks onto someone else's shoulders because he doesn't want the army to come in and calm the matter down like they should. Like they'll have to eventually." "Marshal Dekker doesn't strike me as the kind of man who makes idle threats," Winter observed cautiously. "I think he's forgotten what that badge he wears is supposed to represent," Marsh prompted with a smile. "I, for one, never wanted a man with his reputation as our marshal anyway. The man is a gunfighter, after all, and a half-breed. Hardly the kind of man who invites the right kind of people to settle in Gold River." Winter did not reply, but fiddled with the fringe around the pink silk coverlet, wondering why she resented the Indian agent's unkind description of the lawman. "At any rate, I didn't come here to discuss Marshal Dekker," Marsh went on when she remained silent. "I know this is rather soon after your husband's death, Mrs. Barrett, but I'd like to discuss a business matter with you." Winter's pale face lifted, her wide hazel eyes focusing on his face curiously. "What's on your mind, Mr. Gordon?" "I'd like to restate my offer to buy your husband's mine. I'm willing to pay the original two thousand dollars I offered your husband, perhaps even a bit more, in view of your tragedy." "No!" Winter said sharply. Her pale cheeks filled with two bright


points of color as her eyes began to snap. "My husband's mine is not for sale, Mr. Gordon, not for two thousand dollars or any amount." "But, Mrs. Barrett," Marsh reasoned. "It can't possibly be of any use to you now. It's badly damaged from the cave-in. It will take hundreds of dollars to even get it ready to reopen. Wouldn't it make more sense for you to sell it and take the money to make a new life for yourself somewhere else. Somewhere more civilized?" Winter's radiant chestnut head shook stubbornly. "No, Mr. Gordon. My husband's mine is not for sale. I don't expect you to understand, but that mine is the only thing I have left of Ben, or our child. All his dreams, everything he worked for is in that mine. I will not give it up. I can't. "And I have no desire to go anywhere else," she added when Marsh's mouth opened to protest. "Gold River isn't much of a town but it was Ben's home. He liked it here and so do I. I intend to stay here and I intend to reopen Ben's mine." "Mrs. Barrett, you've been through a great trauma. Perhaps when you're stronger and feeling better you'll reconsider my offer," Marsh said soothingly as he rose to his feet. "I'm sure once you've had time to think things over you'll realize selling the mine is the only logical alternative. I mean, it will cost a great deal of money to just clean up, let alone begin mining again. Why, you don't even have money for a decent place to live, why else would you be in a place like this? Please, Mrs. Barrett, just think about my offer." "I won't change my mind, Mr. Gordon," Winter assured him stubbornly. Her chin lifted, her lips thinning with determination. "My mind is made up." Marsh smiled and picked up his hat. "Women are known to change their minds, Mrs. Barrett. If you should change yours, I'll be at my office."


"Thank you, Mr. Gordon, but the only business you and I shall have to discuss in the future is the whereabouts of Rising Sun. When you have more information about him, I shall be happy to discuss it with you." Marsh's pride stung from her cool dismissal, but he forced a stiff smile and bowed before leaving her room. Damn! he thought angrily as he stalked down the hallway. She was proving as hard to deal with as her husband and that arrogant, half-breed marshal. But be still had a couple of ideas up his sleeve. He felt sure Winter Barrett could be persuaded to change her mind, he just had to find the right combination to the puzzle. *** Rita looked up with a smile at the soft knock on her bedroom door. It was late. She was looking over her ledgers and calculating her profits for the month, but quickly closed the books and turned on her vanity stool where she was working. "Come in, Blaine," she called. "How did you know it was me?? Blaine asked with a fond smile as he came into the room and closed the door softly. "Who else would come knocking on my door at two in the morning?" Rita returned pleasantly. "You look like you can use a drink. Sit down and I'll get us both one. Blaine took off his hat, tossed it onto the vanity beside Rita's ledgers and dropped into an armchair. As always, he was amused at the difference between Rita's personal rooms and the rooms the girls lived in and used for business. Rita's rooms were tastefully furnished with heavy, dark furniture and bright paintings. No garish murals of naked women or gaudy color schemes here, only expensive Oriental rugs and a simple brass bed with an heirloom antique bedspread.


"How's Winter?" Blame asked as he took the glass from Rita's manicured hand. "Better, getting stronger everyday," Rita answered. Her jade eyes became thoughtful, her nails tapping the side of her glass. "She's surprised me, Blaine. Most women would just give up if a thing like this happened to them, but not this one. This one is made of stronger stuff. I like her." "I'm sure Winter will be relieved to hear that," Blaine said dryly, but his lips twitched with amusement. "Any idea what her plans are?" "No, not yet. It's much too soon for her to be thinking about the future. She's been through a terrible experience, Blaine, she's still grieving over her loss. Give her a little more time." Blaine's brows rose, the dark blue eyes twinkled at some hidden thought, but he sipped at Rita's brandy and smiled. "If Red is the kind of woman I think she is, she's already got plans made. She's tough, she'll snap out of this sooner than you think." "You admire her, don't you?" Rita asked thoughtfully. Blaine looked surprised, as if the thought had never occurred to him. He sipped at the brandy again, then rubbed absently as his mustache while he considered Rita's question. "I admire anyone who knows what they want and goes after it with the determination she's got." "She's quite beautiful," Rita pointed out. "Or haven't you noticed?" Blaine nodded curtly. "Sure I've noticed, that kind of thing is hard to overlook"


"But?" "But she's Ben's wife." "Ben's dead," Rita observed quietly. The discomfort that had crept into his eyes amused her for it revealed much more that he realized. "Among the Cheyenne I believe it's common practice for a man to take a dead friend's wife under his protection. Kids too, if she has them. I'm sure they don't sit around the teepee at night and talk about the dead husband all the time. Aren't I right?" "That's different," Blaine grunted, twirling the amber liquid in the glass. "That's done out of necessity. Without a man to provide for them, a dead warrior's family will starve. This is hardly the same thing." "I fail to see the difference. Winter has no family, no one to take care of her, help her get back on her feet again. She has no money, no real home unless you count that run-down mining shack, and you know damned well she can't go back there alone. Not with these Indian attacks." "What are you suggesting, Rita?" Blaine asked. His face had tensed and now the lean muscles in his jaw twitched. He plunked the brandy glass down on the table beside his chair and sat upright, staring at Rita. "That I go in there, throw her over my shoulder and take her to my teepee?" "It is an interesting thought, isn't it?" Rita teased. "One I think you should give serious consideration. After all, you were Ben Barrett's closest friend. Who else is better qualified to take his poor, grieving widow under his wing, not to mention his blanket?" "Stop it, Rita!" Blaine growled. He lurched up from the chair and walked across the dimly lit room to pull the heavy drapes back and stare down into the deserted street.


"Didn't some good hearted warrior take your mother in after your father died?" Rita persisted from her seat. "My mother never married again. She was the daughter of a chief, she didn't need some "good hearted warrior" to take care of her!" Rita suppressed a giggle as she set her glass aside. She slid from her chair with a silken rustle and moved across the room. Ignoring the stiffness in Blaine's body, she ran her hands around his chest and interlaced her fingers, laying her head between his shoulders. "My, my, you're so tense tonight!" she murmured, running her fingers across the tight cords of muscle beneath his shirt. "I was only teasing, Blaine. You're not angry, are you?" "It's not something to tease about, Rita!" he declared. "It's not the least bit funny." "I said I was sorry," Rita said contritely. "Come, I know just how to ease all this tension." Blaine shook his head and moved away. "Not now, Rita, I'm not in the mood." Rita's painted brows rose in surprise, then a thoughtful expression filled her face. "That wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that Mrs. Barrett is sleeping next door, would it? What's the matter, Blaine? Afraid miss pure and piety might hear us? Heaven forbid she wake up and hear us making love! I mean, whatever would she think, this being a whorehouse!" "I don't give a damn what she thinks!" Blaine spat angrily. "Prove it," Rita taunted with a seductive smile. "Prove you don't care that she's in the very next room! Prove you don't care, Blaine! Come


over here and make love to me, right now, this very minute! I dare you!" Days of worry and frustration snapped Blaine's control. Rita's barbed taunts had hit their target, made him feel foolish and angry. Winter's hurt, bewildered face had been before his mind's eye for almost a week. It had been nearly that long since he'd slept. The helplessness he felt at Ben's death and Winter's subsequent miscarriage turned into rage at Rita's cruel teasing. The bright light in her jade eyes dared him as he crossed the room and ripped the elegant dressing gown down off her shoulders. He shoved her backward onto the bed and climbed on top of her, ignoring her delighted moans as she fumbled with his clothes. Moments later he slammed into her body, his eyes closed, his dark head thrown back, his teeth gritted in concentration. Rita's moans became squeals of pleasure, but he ignored them, ignored her fevered pleas for him to slow down. In only a few short, bone crunching thrusts he exploded into her with a blinding climax. Before Rita had even had time to open her eyes, he was off the bed and arranging his clothes. The tension was still in his handsome face but now there was something else. He was ashamed, Rita realized with a start. He was ashamed he had reacted to her taunts as she had wanted. Well, well, she thought with a smile as she sat up and reached for her torn negligee, another facet of his character. One she doubted he was even aware of. "Going so soon?" she asked lightly. Blaine turned dark, angry eyes to her as he snatched up his hat. "Coming here was a mistake," he said curtly. "I didn't mean for this to happen....if I hurt you, I'm sorry. But don't ever do that to me again, Rita. Don't ever tease me about Winter. Do you understand?" Rita stared into the depths of his intense blue eyes and nodded finally.


"Of course, Blaine," she murmured contritely. "I didn't realize Mrs. Barrett was such a sensitive matter to you. I won't make the mistake again." "It's not what you think," Blaine said with a heavy sigh. He ran one hand through his thick raven hair and glanced at her. "Ben was my friend, probably my only friend, and Winter's his wife. Thinking about her any other way than that is disloyal to Ben. I have to make sure she gets another start in life, that's all, Rita. I owe that to Ben. That's all there is to it." "I wonder," Rita mused with a secretive grin when he walked from the room without waiting for her to respond. "Somehow I wonder if you haven't retained more of your Cheyenne heritage than you think."

CHAPTER TEN

For several days there had been something on Winter's mind. Now that she was able to leave her bed, she was restless. At first she kept to her room, afraid to venture out in the hallway for fear of being taken for one of Rita's girls by some over-eager paramour. But as the days drug on and her strength gradually returned, she became braver and more curious. Whatever she had expected a mining town brothel to look like, she was quite surprised at her first tour of Rita's Palace. The building was three stories high, one of the finest looking structures in Gold River. It had real glass windows and all the halls were carpeted.


Large crystal chandeliers hung in regular increments along the long hallway leading from her second story bedroom to the top of the long, curved staircase that led to the main parlor below. Winter was surprised to find that except for the rather garish color schemes of the rooms, the place was very much like a large hotel. The lower portion contained an area filled with green felt covered card tables, another area with a stage and heavy curtain for entertainment, and a long, highly polished mahogany bar that ran almost the entire length of the first floor. The bar was furnished with sparkling clean glasses and a huge mirror trimmed in gilt that reflected the soft glow of two dozen chandeliers, It was so large it employed three bartenders at the peak of operation, from early afternoon till the early hours of the morning. Another area was arranged like a large, comfortable parlor with lots of chairs and side tables and long, plush sofas where customers could sit and talk business or chat with the girls until they'd made their selection for the evening. She discovered also a private meeting area where business men could meet and discuss business privately with no interruptions unless they wanted drinks or have a private card game without the noise and disruption of the entertainment outside. The entire building was tastefully furnished with soft chairs and comfortable couches, decorated in muted colors. It had a pleasant, relaxing atmosphere that greatly surprised Winter. It was almost like a vacation resort, she decided, except the main attraction was scantily clad young women whose sweet, inviting smiles advertised their wares as much as their half-dressed bodies. Winter was also surprised when she gradually became acquainted with the girls who kept Rita's business flourishing. There was Bridget, the youngest, who at sixteen was a popular favorite with the men who


frequented the place; Sally, the Welsh vixen with dark auburn hair and sparkling green eyes; Minday, the daughter of a prominent Boston lawyer, who had run away from a broken engagement, and a dozen others like them. As she listened to their stories, Winter could find no common link between these women except that they liked the adventure of life on the frontier, and they liked the money. She was astounded to learn bow much money each of these women made for a week's work. It was ten times more than she'd ever seen at one time in her entire life, but she wondered if even that much money was worth what they did to earn it. As she wandered the halls one morning when she'd been there almost three weeks, she wondered about Blaine Dekker. Except for that one visit right after her miscarriage, Winter had not seen him again. There were times when she'd wake in the cool, dark hours of the morning and think she'd heard his footsteps in the hallway and lie awake listening, but if it was Blaine, he never came to her door. She pushed aside those curious thoughts as she tapped softly on Rita's bedroom door. After a moment she heard Rita call for her to enter so she opened the door and limped inside. The ankle still hurt when she was on her feet too long, but it was getting stronger each day. "Well, hello there!" Rita greeted her with a friendly smile. "Come on in and sit down, take the weight off that ankle." Winter moved to the comfortable wing-back chair near the open window and sat down. "Thank you," she murmured, trying to look anywhere but at Rita. The madam was wearing only a thin negligee as she scurried about the room, hanging up clean laundry and tidying up. "Something on your mind this morning, Winter?" she asked, obviously not noticing the girl's discomfort at her scanty attire. "You feeling okay?"


Winter bobbed her head nervously as she wet her lips with her tongue. "Yes, fine, thank you. In fact, that's what I'd like to speak to you about." Rita glanced at her in surprise, then took a seat on the padded vanity chair to give the girl her full attention. "This sounds serious. Please, tell me what's on your mind." Winter swallowed and nervously picked at a loose thread in the downy robe one of the girls had loaned her. "I'm much better now," she began slowly, feeling for the words. "I'm very grateful to you for taking me in, letting me stay here, taking care of me when I was so sick. But it's been nearly three weeks and time I took charge of my own life again." Winter paused to take a breath. Rita's painted brows rose curiously, wondering what the girl had in mind. "I understand that, Winter," she prompted when the girl seemed to have trouble putting her thoughts into words. "You've been through a lot. You've been very ill and you're not fully recovered yet." "I-I don't think I can ever live in the cabin again," Winter said, blinking back unexpected tears. "It's too soon, I-I think I would see Ben in every shadow. So, I'm asking you for a job, something I can do in return for a place to stay." Rita's brows shot up in surprise, but it took all her strength not to giggle. "Winter, you're not the type of girl I usually employ," she said brightly. Winter's face colored as she shook her head vigorously. "Oh no! You don't understand! I don't want to do that! There must be something else I can do." Rita's lips curled up in a charming smile as she studied the girl


thoughtfully. "Well, I don't know. Most of the girls who work for me have a trade, if you want to call it that. And with your looks, you could make a great deal of money, both for me and for yourself. "However, since that isn't what you've got in mind, perhaps you'll consider this idea. How would you feel about being a hostess? You know, greet the men when they come in, show them to the parlor or the bar, get them a drink, make them feel at home. Find out what kind of entertainment they have in mind and suggest which girl you think would please them." "I-I-don't know," Winter hesitated, still blushing. "I've never done that kind of work." "Oh, there's nothing to it," Rita assured her with a smile. "That's mostly what I do myself now most of the time, except for a few special customers. It's a simple job but an interesting one. And later, if you decide to, you can---move up---in my organization...become one of my regular girls. "However," she went on when Winter was unable to speak for embarrassment, "if that doesn't appeal to you, perhaps I can train you to tend bar later on." Winter's relieved expression brought another smile to Rita's lips. She thought over Rita's offer carefully, wondering if she could successfully be a hostess, then decided she could. "What about salary?" she asked, lifting her head and looking directly at Rita for the first time since the conversation began. "Fifty dollars a week and board."


"What would I have to wear?" Winter asked warily. "Something tasteful, but provocative," was Rita's casual reply. "You know, something revealing--but not too much. With your face and figure, you'll look stunning in anything. It's important to give the right image to our customers." Following Winter's bewildered expression, she smiled again. "We want them to feel comfortable here. We provide all of life's simplest pleasures, gambling, drinking, a good cigar, and girls who know their trade. That's why my place is the most popular in town; I treat my customers right and I give them what they want. "When they walk through my front door and you greet them, I want them to know they'll be taken care of properly, with whatever entertainment they have in mind. Therefore, you must be beautiful, gracious, and friendly. You must create the impression that all the girls here are as eager to please and as beautiful as you. And with your looks, dear, that will be easy." "I wouldn't have to do anything else?" Winter asked skeptically. "Not unless you want to," Rita assured her. "If you want to be strictly a hostess, I'll put out the word that that's exactly what you are and nothing more. You'll find that my customers are gentlemen, for the most part, and if one of them proves to be otherwise, well, that's what I have Waldo for." Winter remembered the big, German-born bouncer who had carried up her tea tray on several occasions. He was as big as a house, with bulging muscles and a shaved head. He was intimidating, at the very least. She doubted she'd have much trouble with Waldo standing by the front door with his massive arms crossed over his chest like a giant watchdog. The thought gave her a small measure of comfort. "Of course," Rita was smiling secretively. "If you see some big, handsome fellow with his pockets bulging with silver, just give me the word and you can have him for yourself."


Winter's face went crimson as she shook her head emphatically. "No, thank you! Hostess suits me fine." Rita laughed softly as she leaned forward to pat the girl's hand in a gesture of sincere friendship. "It's settled then. You can start as soon as you're feeling up to it and we get a wardrobe altered to fit you." She eyed Winter speculatively, one long nail tapping on her chin. "I think Minday has a couple of things that might do until I can get some new things run up for you. I'll see to it right away." Winter saw that the woman's mind was already busy with other things and rose to leave. Shyly, she stuck out her hand. "Thank you, Rita," she said sincerely. "I won't let you down. You'll see." "Oh, I fully expect a great increase in business when word gets out that you're greeting my customers," Rita replied cheerfully. "I expect to make money on this investment." Winter left quickly before she lost her nerve. This was the most practical way, she told herself as she limped back down the hall to her own room. It took money to reopen a silver mine. Lots of money, and while this new job wouldn't pay the kind of money she needed, it was a start. If she was very careful, she would be able to begin work on the mine soon. Then Ben's dream would come true. If there was silver in that godforsaken hole in the ground, she intended to find it. Even if she had to dig it out with her bare hands. She hadn't been able to help Ben find his dream while he was alive, perhaps she'd have better luck now. If she could find the silver vein Ben was so sure was there, then maybe she could put this lost, empty feeling to rest and get on with her life. But first--the silver---Ben's legacy--if it was there, she'd find it.


CHAPTER ELEVEN

Blaine rode east from Gold River through the bright spring flowers and April sunshine. It was a glorious morning filled with the songs of birds as they built new nests high above in the tall, newly leafed trees, but Blaine was oblivious to the beauty around him as he urged the pinto into a spirited run toward flatter land. The land became lower, less hilly and green as he continued east. He topped a rise and drew the pinto up for a breather. Below him, spread out to the horizon, was the ancestral land of the Cheyenne. There was a definite quickening of his pulse, an unexpected surge of adrenaline through his blood as he looked out over the land of his youth. Taking a grip on the surprising wave of emotions, he nudged the pinto off the rise, down into the plain. Turning a bit south, he rode for another hour, then pulled the horse to a halt beside a trickling stream cutting through the land. He dropped to his heels and cupping his hand, drank from the stream. He took off his hat, dropped it beside him on the grass, and washed his face in the clear, cold water, then dried it with his bandanna. The pinto whinnied and raised his muzzle from the stream to look back over his shoulder. Blaine heard nothing, but smiled when he glanced into the clear stream to see the old Indian woman standing at his side. "Na'go," he said, raising his hand in greeting. "You still do that better than anyone I've ever known. Even the eagle is not so silent."


The serious expression on Half Moon's face faded momentarily as her great ebony eyes twinkled with fondness for the lawman. "Your hair grows longer, Blaine," she observed, her eyes moving to the shimmering raven mane beneath his Stetson. "Soon you will once again look like the great warrior you are." The smile instantly left Blaine's handsome face. He turned away, drying the ends of his mustache with the bandanna, then tying it back into place at his throat. "It takes more than long hair and a breechcloth to make a great warrior, na'go," he said quietly. He turned to face her again, his dark blue eyes scanning her proud, regal form inside the traditional deerskin dress. Her long hair was neatly twisted into two long braids adorned at the ends with beads. "How are you?" "I am well, na'," Half Moon replied solemnly. "The blankets and food you sent during the winter saved many children. Still, there are many who cry from hunger each night. Two Feathers grows impatient. The young men are closer to war than ever before. Two Feathers can not hold them much longer. He awaits your return to the council." "Have any Cheyenne braves gone raiding the miner's camps?" Blaine asked, apparently choosing not to comment on her statement. "No, Blaine," Half Moon said. "Even Shadow Dancer remains still. He has many followers, but he is afraid of Two Feathers. He waits until Two Feathers dies. Then he will make war on the whites if you do not come." "I just came from a mining camp, na'go. Two more men killed with Cheyenne arrows. How do you explain that?" Blaine questioned, studying her weathered, copper face. "They are not Cheyenne from our kindred. I cannot speak for other


kindreds. It is said the Arapaho are ready to go to war. They, too, are hungry. Many children die this winter. Red Fox has sent for Two Feathers to join him in war council, but Two Feathers is sick and will not go." "If Red Fox goes to war, the army will come here," Blaine said gruffly. "Many Arapaho will die, surely Red Fox knows this." "His people are hungry. The seed we were promised has not been delivered by Gordon. Our people try to raise food, but without the seed and tools we were promised, it cannot be done. Our people will not live through another winter." Blaine's eyes darkened with contempt for Marsh Gordon. "He must have inside help somewhere, but I haven't been able to find it. I've had everyone connected with the agency checked over and over, but I can't find a thing to link Gordon to these shortages in supplies." "It is said your friend Barrett was killed. I am sorry." Blaine did not reply, but hooked his thumbs in the wide leather gunbelt at his waist and looked into the sparkling stream. "His woman, the one who seeks Rising Sun, she is well?" "She lost the baby she carried," Blaine said curtly without looking back at her. "She's been very sick, but she will live. She's a strong woman." "You will protect her now?" the old woman asked quietly. "Yes, as best I can," Blaine answered. "You must not get too close to this woman, Blaine," Half Moon warned solemnly. "You must not forget she is white. You are


Cheyenne." "Even if I could, I doubt she'll forget my Indian blood, na'go," Blaine said with a wry smile, then his face sobered. "Two Feathers must not let Shadow Dancer talk the young men into war, Half Moon. He must keep them in line until I can prove Gordon is a thief." "You must come, Blaine. Two Feathers is old and sick, he cannot keep the young braves from war. That is the job of a young chief. A young chief who knows better ways. You." "No!" Blaine argued emphatically. "I am not Cheyenne. I cannot be chief. Two Feathers must accept that and find someone else. Someone besides Shadow Dancer." "Shadow Dancer will challenge anyone who becomes chief," Half Moon said wisely. "Only you are strong enough to defeat him." "No! Not me!" "Two Feathers says only his grandson will become chief. If you do not come soon, Blaine, he will send the warriors. He told me to tell you this." Blaine gave a short, bitter laugh as he stared at her. "He can't force me to become chief! What's he going to do, hold me prisoner, make me take the Sacred Arrows from him? No, Two Feathers knows he cannot force me to take his place. He may be old and sick but he hasn't lost his mind. He'll have to find some other way." "I will tell him your words, Blaine," Half Moon said quietly and turned away Seconds later she had mounted the bare-back Indian pony and disappeared upstream. Blaine watched her go, wondering what Two Feathers reaction would be to his message. An icy chill stole up his


back, made the hair at the back of his neck stand on end. He wondered if he'd made a mistake telling the old chief to find some other way to solve his problems. He had known Two Feathers for a very long time. He knew the wise old Indian would find that other way. Blaine wondered what it would be. *** Blaine had only gone a few miles back toward Gold River when the hair on the back of his neck began to prickle warningly. He halted the pinto and turned in the saddle to carefully examine the land around him, but saw nothing to indicate he was being followed. Still, the uncanny sensation continued until he had come within shouting distance of town. Then abruptly the feeling disappeared. Once more he stopped the horse to look around, but only the muffled hoofbeats of a lone horse disappearing into the distance confirmed his suspicions. Shadow Dancer was taking no chances, he thought irritably. He nudged the pony forward again and pulled his hat down against a stiff breeze. If his cousin was watching his movements, then he surely knew about the meeting with Half Moon. That thought sent a chill of alarm up Blaine's spine. Although Half Moon held a special place in Two Feathers' affections, she could still be in danger from Shadow Dancer. Blaine decided quickly that there could be no more meetings with the old Cheyenne woman. To do so might put her in grave danger should his ambitious young cousin decide not to wait for Two Feathers' death to claim the old man's position as chief. He rode into Gold River with a heavy heart. Half Moon was the only link to his past that he'd salvaged and now that tie must be broken.


He'd tried so damned hard all these years to put his Cheyenne life behind him and live as a white man in a white man's world. There were times when he'd been successful. Like this job as marshal of Gold River. Most folks here didn't seem to notice or care that he was half Cheyenne, only that he did his job effectively. He'd made a place for himself here, a life without prejudice among people who respected him for the job he did, not hated him for the color of his skin. There were days, sometimes weeks, at a time when he did not think about his past. Then the Cheyenne had been allowed to leave the Oklahoma reservation and return to their ancestral lands. With their return came the indisputable fact that he could never escape his heritage. Still, he was pleased to see Half Moon, in spite of the unpleasant memories her copper face brought to mind. Now he must never see her again, at least not until this business with Shadow Dancer was settled. He swung down from the pinto and draped the reins over the hitching rail. He tipped his hat to a group of young ladies on their way to one of the saloons and walked across the boardwalk into his office. Tossing his hat onto the scarred desk top, he dropped into the old worn chair behind it. He took the nearly full bottle of whiskey from the bottom drawer and poured himself a liberal shot, then drained it in one swallow. Pouring another, he stared morosely out the window at the busy street, shaking his head. He had been followed all the way from the meeting with Half Moon to the outskirts of town. That meant Shadow Dancer was very nervous. It also meant, he thought wearily, that one day soon he would no doubt have to either kill his cousin or let Shadow Dancer kill him. Damn it! he said to himself angrily. Why couldn't Two Feathers keep the people in Oklahoma? Why did he have to lead them back here and stir up this again? The last thing he wanted right now was to face Shadow Dancer in combat. But instinct told him he might not be able to


avoid it. Shadow Dancer obviously considered him a threat to his becoming chief, even if being chief was the last thing on Blaine's mind. Shadow Dancer was an ambitious man and a careful one. Today had proven that much. Blaine would have to be very careful now, watch his back every second. His life might well depend on it.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Winter nervously glanced at her reflection in the mirror behind the bar as she led her first customer of the evening to a table where a card game was just beginning. She had been Rita's hostess now for almost a week, but she was still uncomfortable with her new image. However, as her job was to give the patrons an excellent first impression, she looked remarkably perfect for the part. The pale green silk dress she was wearing accented her chestnut hair and hazel eyes, as Rita predicted, but she doubted she would ever feel casual about the way the garment was made. It was so low cut it revealed the tops of her breasts as well as the deep hollow between them. The whale-bone corset beneath the dress cinched her waist to almost nothing and pushed her breasts up high, jutting from the green silk fringe around the top of the garment. The dress fit like a second layer of skin. It defined every curve, every hollow of her body, Winter noticed again uneasily. From the top of her


shoulders to the barely thigh-length extent of the dress, it revealed her femininity as no other garment she'd ever worn. The results were not all that unpleasant, she decided finally. She had discovered that she was really quite lovely. That revelation had come as a surprise for Winter never considered herself attractive. But now with Rita's expert assistance, she discovered a swan beneath all those ugly duck feathers. Rita had designed the dress, and the others that now hung in her closet upstairs, shown her how to apply just the right amount of make-up to high-light the natural luster of her skin, how to walk in such a way as to make the most of her figure, and how to wear black net stockings and high heels without stumbling. So now with her radiant chestnut hair pinned up in a sophisticated new style with tiny whispers of curls dangling beside her ears, Winter felt like a completely different person. For the first time in her life men turned to stare when she entered a room. The first couple of nights her face had been scarlet the entire time she was working from the open admiration that she saw on the men's faces when she greeted them. But now she was becoming more accustomed to that look. She was even beginning to enjoy it a bit. It was pleasant to have man jump to pull out a chair for you, she thought with a tiny smile. And to have them all looking at you with those big, calf eyes, begging for a kind word or a smile. Yet, in spite of her appearance, not one of the men who came to Rita's Palace had been less than a gentleman. That surprised her more than anything. She had discovered in the short time she'd been greeting Rita' s customers that most of these men were lonely, and that a pleasant word would win a friend for life. Indeed,


most of them were quite shy about answering her questions regarding the type of entertainment they had in mind. She also discovered a natural ability to put them at ease and make them feel comfortable. Perhaps Rita was right; perhaps she would encourage more business and by doing so, make more money for herself. Rita had insinuated that if Winter continued to bring in new business, she would be happy to give the girl a raise in a few weeks. The prospect of more money made Winter's eyes sparkle. She returned to the heavy glass doors that opened onto the main street and fixed her welcoming smile in place. Then her lips froze momentarily in surprise when she realized who the next customer was. "Good evening, Marshal," she heard herself say. The light tone of her voice came as a surprise for she was sure the lump in her throat would have squeezed off any words that tried to get past it. Blaine's dark brows rose in surprise, the dark blue eyes widening for just a second when he recognized her. He glanced up and down her quickly, then a second time more slowly. Winter shifted uncomfortably under his curious gaze, blushing uncontrollably at the fleeting, but easily recognizable admiration she saw pass over his face. "Good evening, Mrs. Barrett," Blaine replied casually. "I'd heard that Rita had hired a new hostess but you'll have to excuse my surprise at finding out who she is." Winter blinked, wondering what the cool tone of his voice meant. She stared at him silently for a moment, feeling unusually nervous, then took a long breath, remembering her job. "May I be of some assistance, Marshal?" she asked brightly. "What would you like this evening, a pleasant game of cards, a drink or two perhaps, or...something a bit more personal?" she stammered.


Funny how the words that came so easily for other men seemed to stick in her throat when she tried to say them to him, she thought irritably. It didn't help either that his brows rose again and his lips twitched with amusement when she noticeably stammered and her face pinkened. "What would you suggest, Mrs. Barrett?" Blaine asked pleasantly as he glanced around the busy parlor where several of Rita's girls lounged over sofa backs, giggling at some miner's attempt at humor. "I'm sure I don't know what your interests are, Marshal," Winter snapped. Her face filled with color as her temper rose. He was baiting her! He knew how uncomfortable all this made her and he was deliberately trying to embarrass her! "But if you'll give me a clue, I'm sure I shall be able to help you reach a decision." "That's very kind of you, Mrs. Barrett," Blaine drawled. He brought his sharp cobalt gaze back to rest on Winter's flushed face and grinned. "But I'm no stranger here. I'm sure I can find something to amuse myself with on my own." The surprise that flashed into Winter's face made him smile again, then his handsome face sobered, the dark blue eyes narrowed slightly. "Mind answering a question for me?" he asked casually. "What is it?" "Just what the hell do you think you're doing?" he asked, his voice dropping to a growl. Winter blinked in surprise at the sudden change in his manner. Gone was the teasing smile of moments ago. In its place was a piercing gaze that made her back up a step while she stared at him open-mouthed. Then she found her voice as her temper flared to the surface.


"Whatever do you mean?" she demanded, drawing herself up straighter. She was unaware that the motion caused her breasts to strain beneath the pale green silk or that the fire in her eyes made them sparkle. "You know what I mean. What the hell are you doing working in a place like this?" Blaine repeated. He kept his gaze locked with hers, enjoying the discomfort that deepened the flush in her cheeks. "I'm making a living!" she snapped. "And I'll have you know, Marshal, that I'm not doing anything wrong! I'm greeting customers, that's all! I have to make a living, don't I?" "I suppose so," Blaine shrugged. Once more his eyes moved down her slim, graceful body, then back up. The motion took only a second, yet he had to swallow before being able to speak. That made him angry. "But there are more suitable places to work." "Name one that pays fifty dollars a week and board!" Winter challenged with narrowed eyes. "If money is such a priority, why aren't you working upstairs?" Blaine asked her coolly, watching the shock that flashed into her face. "You can make ten times that much in a week." "I'm quite satisfied with my position!" Winter retorted. She refused to let him badger her into saying something she'd regret. It was obvious from the gleam in his eyes that he was just waiting for her to say the wrong thing, so he could cut her down. She wasn't about to let that happen. "I must say you look..very nice," he said. The abrupt change in his manner left Winter puzzled. The taunting was gone from his voice. The expression in his eyes mystified her. For a moment he looked almost embarrassed,


then that old familiar arrogance came back into his face. "That dress does wonders for you. Yes, green is definitely your color." "Thank you! I'm so happy that you're pleased! Now, can I help you with anything?" Blaine shook his head with a smile. "No thanks, I'll just have a seat at the bar and admire the view." Without giving Winter a chance to respond, he strolled across the room and sat down on a bar stool. He ordered a drink and sipped it slowly, all the while watching Winter's confused, frustrated face in the mirror above the bar. She stared at his back for a moment, then lifted her head and marched back to the front door to await the next customer. She pointedly kept her head turned from his direction for the next few minutes, as if ignoring him completely. She smiled at the customers, laughed at their jokes, and tried to be helpful with their entertainment, all without acknowledging Blaine's presence at the bar. All the while she was seething on the inside. Why did she let him get her so upset, she asked herself angrily. The man had been gone for almost a week and the first time he laid eyes on her in her new position, all he could do was try to pick a fight. As if what she did was any of his business anyway! Winter scurried about seating customers, ordering drinks for them, and smiling pleasantly for the next hour. During that time Blaine sat at the bar sipping the one drink, keeping an eye on the patrons. Winter stole a glance at him from time to time, wondering why he was ignoring her totally made her teeth grind. She did not know what she'd expected from him when he saw her, but the cool, detached expression on his face did little to bolster her ego. The open admiration she had come to expect from other men was pointedly lacking in Blaine Dekker, except for that one momentary flicker at the doorway.


For one brief instant she had seen admiration in the depths of those intense blue eyes, then he had buried it somewhere deep inside. She wondered why. She also wondered irritably to herself why it bothered her that he had not displayed the warmth and interest other men showed her so freely. Did he consider himself above that form of human emotion as well? His heart was as cold as his Indian blood, she told herself firmly as she went about her duties. A man had to have feelings to need someone else, even if it was only for the evening like these miners who came to town to purchase female companionship for a few hours. Obviously Blaine Dekker didn't have the same needs as other men. Winter wondered why that thought warmed her cheeks, made her heart race. Yet he had said he was no stranger to this place. And he had brought her here when she was injured. So, she thought, her brows knitting thoughtfully, if he didn't use the services of the girls here, it might be because there was one special girl. That thought made her face burn. That must be it! Why hadn't she thought of that before? With that thought still fresh in her mind, Winter turned toward the bar. Her face fell in surprise when she saw Rita draped over Blaine's shoulder, smiling down at him like a school girl. Winter saw Blaine's hand resting on the older woman's waist, saw the sparkle in his eyes from across the room. The affectionate smile that adorned Rita's lips told Winter more than she wanted to know. There was a woman in Blaine's life all right and she was old enough to be his mother! Who would have thought it? she thought to herself, turning away quickly before either of them could see her staring. Unexpected tears burned Winter's eyelids, but she brushed them away


furiously. She must be tired, she told herself. Perhaps she wasn't as recovered as she'd thought. That could be the only explanation for the sudden urge to cry that filled her as she hurried back to greet another customer. "Well, is she looking?" Rita asked with a teasing grin. "Who?" "Winter, of course. That is who you're watching in the mirror, isn't it?" "I don't know what you're talking about," Blaine mumbled as he motioned for the bartender to refill his glass. "Oh? You haven't taken your eyes off her for the past hour." Rita half-turned in order to see Winter walk across the room to seat two elderly men in the card room. "Remarkable, isn't it?" she mused, smiling at the suspicious expression on Blaine's face. "Who would have dreamed that such beauty and grace was hidden beneath those dowdy clothes? She's working out extremely well, bringing in new business, getting old customers to spend more money. Just what my place needed---class. Wouldn't you agree, Blaine?" "You're already the richest woman in Gold River," Blaine pointed out sourly. "You didn't have to hire Winter too." "If I hadn't somebody would've," Rita pointed out with a faint smile. "The girl needed a job and if I hadn't given her one, she'd have gone elsewhere. And I, being the astute businesswoman that I am, knew a good investment when I saw it. All it took was the right clothes and a little make-up. Look at her now! She's the most beautiful woman in my place. It's a shame I couldn't talk her into working for me upstairs. She'd have the money pouring in by the buckets!" Blaine's eyes snapped angrily when he looked up. "I think you've done


quite enough, Rita!" he said harshly. "If Red expresses the slightest interest in working upstairs, I want to know it! Understand?" Rita's red lips curled in a smile as she patted his shoulder soothingly. "No need to concern yourself, Blaine. Winter is a very moral young woman. I assure you that greeting my guests is as far as she wants to go in my business. I told you, she has class. She's a lady!" Her voice had dropped the bantering note. Blaine detected a note of admiration in Rita's voice as he looked up into her heavily made-up face to see the sincerity behind the words. "She's only interested in making enough money to reopen her silver mine. She seems intent on doing that, though I fail to see why." "She thinks she owes it to Ben," Blaine said quietly. He looked back at the whiskey glass in his fingers, but saw instead of the amber liquid, Winter's urgent, tear-filled eyes that day when she'd asked him to stay with her and talk to her about Ben. The other things Winter had said that day came rushing back as well. The questions about her femininity, her ability to please Ben sexually, shouted at him across his memory. "She has this crazy idea that she failed him somehow. She has to make it up to him. Finding his silver vein is her idea of how to do that." He drained the glass and pulled free of Rita's hand. Rising, he picked up his hat and walked quickly across the room and into the night air. He moved up the side of the street, testing each door to make sure it was locked. But his mind was far from what he was doing automatically. If the girl had any doubts about her femininity all she had to do was look in a mirror, he thought dryly. The change that a sexy dress and high heels had made in her made his pulse race. He had known she was pretty, but tonight with that green dress that revealed more than it covered and the elegant hair-do that made her seem sophisticated. She hadn't realized how beautiful she was. And how desirable.


Who would have ever guessed she had legs like that, he asked himself as he continued with his rounds. Long, slender, just the right shape and form. It was enough to take a man's breath. He wondered if Ben had ever realized what he'd had? No, he decided, shaking his head. Ben wasn't the kind of man who would've noticed her legs or the smooth luster of her skin. Or the way the light turned her hair to flame. Ben cared about her because of what she was inside, the trappings on the package weren't that important. There again, Ben was a better man than he, Blaine thought with a grimace. He was barbarian enough to enjoy those physical things. Then he shook those carnal thoughts away. Don't get too close Half Moon had warned. She was absolutely right. Getting close to Winter Barrett was the most dangerous thing he could do. He knew that, had accepted it. Yet, keeping himself at a distance might prove more difficult than he'd anticipated, especially after having seen the way she looked tonight. Well, Rita always said the best way to forget one woman is to find another one, he reminded himself. Maybe when his rounds were finished he'd wander back over to Rita's and see if she was still awake. Maybe she'd help him forget how fetching Winter looked in that skimpy costume with the fringe around the top that made him instantly conscious of her breasts peeking out beneath it. Maybe... His head snapped up, listening intently for the sound again. There it was, a shuffling in the alley just ahead. His hand dropped onto the butt of the pistol on his hip as he moved stealthy forward and entered the alley. The glare of the streetlight did not reach far into the narrow passageway, but Blaine saw two figures ahead struggling. His lips tightened with disgust as he walked toward them. Another thug trying


to make an easy buck by robbing some drunk miner, he thought irritably. Everybody wants something for nothing. "All right, you two, break it up!" he said gruffly when he was still a couple of feet away. "Can't you find something better to do at this hour of the night?" The men stopped scuffling and turned to stare at him. Behind him, Blaine heard the approach of another set of footsteps. The hair on the base of his neck rose in warning. His hand gripped the gun butt, pulling it upward. Then there was an explosion in his skull. Pain shot through him as a million bright lights fragmented in his vision. Before he could shake his head to clear it, another bolt of pain erupted in his chest. He felt the crunch as a rib shattered from the heavy blow and staggered. Two pair of hands grabbed him, held him upright, as a big shadowy form emerged from the gloom and pelted him with ham-like fists. Blood spurted from his mouth and nose as his assailant rained blow after blow upon him. He slammed an elbow into the groin of one of the men holding him and heard the curse that followed it. Whirling, he slung the other man into the high, clapboard fence and tackled the big one. His fists connected with the man's jaw, sent him reeling backward. He looked about for his pistol, but didn't see it. By now all three of his attackers were on their feet and circling. There was no way out of the alley except the way he'd come, over these three men. Knowing he would have to fight his way out, Blaine swung at the nearest one, connecting solidly with the man's nose. He struggled valiantly for a few moments, holding his ground, even gaining a bit as the men realized this was going to be no easy task. Then, from behind him out of the darkness, someone hit him in the back of the head with a piece of stove wood.


Blaine sagged to his knees, shaking his head to clear away the cobwebs. He felt himself hauled to his feet and held securely immobile, unable to move. The bigger man moved in closer, his face a bloody smirk in the dim light. "Come on, hold him still," he heard the man order his two companions. "The boss said he'd fight; I like that. Makes the job more interesting." For the next ten minutes the big man slowly, methodically, beat Blaine to a bloody pulp. Each time he thought he would pass out, the attacker stopped, waiting until the tantalizing cloud of unconsciousness faded before starting in again. "Better stop it," one of the men holding him up said finally. "The boss said beat the hell outa him; he didn't say kill him." "All right," he faintly heard the big man agree sadly. Then his head was jerked upward by the man's hand gripping his chin. He tried to focus on the man's brawny face, but everything was a blur and he knew he was going pass out. "Listen good, marshal," he heard as the dark cloud moved closer. "You gotta stop asking so many questions about things that don't concern you. Know what I mean? You gotta stop protecting those murdering savages, stop digging into Indian affairs. If you don't, the next time we pay you a visit we won't be so polite." The man slammed his big fist into Blaine's groin one last time. Blaine sank to the ground, his back sliding down the rough plank fence as the men moved down the alley and into the street. He sat against the fence, shaking his head, trying to collect his senses. He spit out a mouthful of blood as he lifted one hand to explore the swelling lump at the back of his head. Everything was disconnected as if he was in a dream. Only the pain in his broken ribs told him this was no dream.


He staggered to his feet and leaned heavily against the fence for support while he fought back the urge to vomit. "I've gotta get to Rita's," he said out loud as he stumbled down the alley toward the street. "Gotta get to Rita's before I pass out." Hearing the sound of his own voice reassured him. At least he was still alive. At the moment that seemed a great deal to be thankful for. He made his way slowly, holding onto the fence, then the buildings as he headed for Rita's place. The trip seemed to take forever. Indeed, it was nearly dawn when he finally fell against Rita's door. It took all the strength he could summon to knock. He leaned his head against the cool pane of glass and said a silent prayer of thanks when the sound of scurrying feet inside finally told him someone had heard. When the door was opened a second later, he fell inside into Waldo's arms, unconscious.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Winter peeked nervously into the room. One glance at the motion-less body beneath the sheets caused her to let out a sigh of relief. At least Blaine Dekker was asleep, she thought to herself as she tiptoed across the room and pulled the heavy drapes back. A flood of sunshine entered the room, bathing him in warm light. Winter puttered about the room for several minutes, rearranging the array of bottles on Rita's dresser, often pausing to lift one to her nose to inspect the contents before replacing it on the silver vanity tray.


She smoothed the skirt of her long gingham dress into place and finally settled into the wing-back chair drawn up close to the bed. Only then did she allow herself to look directly at the injured man. Blaine's handsome face was bruised, one eye was discolored, and his bottom lip was badly cut. Still, there was a tantalizing sexuality about him that drew Winter's brows into a puzzled arch. His face was relaxed, almost peaceful, yet she glanced about uneasily as if afraid of being observed. Her lower lip pouted thoughtfully as she studied his features in the soft sunlight pouring into the room from the open window. His dark hair spilled over his forehead into his eyes, and before Winter realized it, she had reached to brush it away. Her face colored quickly. She drew her hand away as though she had been burned, then shook her head sternly at her own foolishness. She was acting like a child, she told herself while she busied her hands with smoothing the pillows beneath Blaine's head. He was asleep, totally helpless, she reminded herself sharply, then drew a relieved breath at that thought. He had been badly injured. She had been with Rita when Doctor Miller had finished his examination. Broken ribs, bruises, cuts, and a possible concussion. Whoever had attacked Blaine had done a very thorough job. He was lucky the damage wasn't more severe, she remembered the doctor saying. But looking at him now, he certainly didn't look very lucky. He looked like someone had deliberately tried to beat him to death and came alarmingly close to succeeding. She looked at the strong, brown hand that lay outside the covers. The fingers were long, the nails cut close; neat and clean. Just the way she perceived Blaine Dekker to be. There was nothing artificial about him.


He was exactly what he appeared, she thought uneasily, glancing about the room again. The kind of man who made no excuses for himself and didn't accept them from others. For some reason that thought made Winter uncomfortable. She slowly lifted one hand to touch Blaine's bare arm. The heat from his skin startled her, as though she had half-expected his skin to be cold like a snake. She shook herself and let her fingers trail down his forearm, sliding through the silky dark hair that covered his arm, feeling the iron-hard muscles beneath the skin. He stirred suddenly, groaning in his sleep. His handsome face twisted with pain. A tiny sigh rippled from his bruised lips, but he slowly relaxed and turned his head on the pillow before slipping into a deeper sleep. Thank goodness for laudanum, Winter thought worriedly. She glanced at the clock on Rita's mantel, mentally calculating the hours since Blaine had been given the last dose of the potent drug. He should be waking soon. Hopefully Rita would be finished with her errands by then. Winter felt sure Blaine would much rather wake up to find Rita beside his bed than her. A tiny frown furrowed Winter's brow at the unbidden reminder of the lawman's relationship with the madam. It had been obvious from Rita's frantic behavior that she was very fond of Blaine. Winter wondered just how he felt about Rita, then reminded herself sternly that it was none of her business. None at all. She realized her fingers had lingered on his hand. Blushing, she began to withdraw her hand from his when Blaine moved again and his fingers tightened around Winter's. She gasped in surprise, trying to remove herself from his grasp, then realized he was still under the influence of the drug.


She began talking to him, gently, soothingly, smiling when the furrow between his brows eased and his fingers relaxed, allowing her to remove her hand. She patted his hand absently, surprised at the response his unconscious mind gave to the sound of her voice. Amazing, she thought with a wide-eyed glance into his face. Even Blaine Dekker seemed to respond to human kindness. Her brows arched and the bright hazel eyes widened with curiosity at the ridge of flesh her fingertips encountered. She turned Blaine's hand over to examine the spot and gasped in surprise. Beneath her fingertips was a small, white scar in the shape of a cross. It was in the center of his wrist, very old, probably put there in his childhood. She automatically pulled up her sleeve to glance at the scar on her own wrist. The two were quite similar, she thought, glancing back at Blaine's hand. So, Blaine Dekker had also been made someone's blood brother for life. She wondered if that someone who had carved the cross in Blaine's wrist and mixed the blood together had been Rising Sun. Yes, she thought quickly. That would explain his reluctance to help her find the renegade warrior. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously as she pulled the sheets up closer around Blaine's throat and tucked his arm inside. "Well, mister," she said softly to his sleeping form. "If that's why you refuse to help me, it's high time you admitted it. Just as soon as you're able, you and I are going to get a few things straight!" *** The next morning around ten o'clock Winter climbed the stairs. Her lips were pulled into thin lines as she neared Rita's room where Blaine slept. As much as she disliked the thought of taking the injured man breakfast, she also anticipated the thought of confronting him about her


suspicions. Winter took her time walking down the long hallway to Blaine's room at the back of the house. Her mind was consumed with how to broach the subject of the scar on Blaine's wrist and any connection it might have to Rising Sun. Pausing outside the room, Winter took a deep breath, then knocked firmly on the door. Without waiting for an invitation she opened the door, balancing the tray precariously with one hand while turning the door knob with the other. Without looking at her patient, she set the tray on the bedside table and hurried to open the drapes. Finally she turned to the bed, her eyes determined, her lips set in thin lines. "Good morning," she managed to say finally after wetting her lips twice. "How are you feeling this morning?" "Like somebody beat the hell outa me," was Blaine's gruff reply. His dark head turned on the pillow as his eyes scanned the room. "Where's my clothes?" "In the closet," Winter replied primly as she sat down in the wing-back chair and uncovered the tray. "Rita had them washed and repaired for you. Now what would you like first, coffee or a nice, fresh roll?" "What I'd like are my pants," Blaine said with a black scowl. When Winter pointedly ignored the biting sarcasm in his voice, he shifted beneath the covers and stared at her. She definitely had something on her mind, he thought warily. Her guard was up. He saw it in the determined glint in her eyes, in the rigid pose of her slender body in the chair as she poured a cup of coffee from the silver urn on the tray before turning toward him. "Not until you're stronger," Winter told him firmly. "You're in no condition to get out of bed. That's why I'm here."


"Oh?" The curious raising of his brows brought a rush of color into Winter's cheeks. She busied herself with the china teacup until she felt more in control of herself, then lifted frosty hazel eyes to him. "I mean that Rita sent me to see that you have something to eat and to see if you need anything else." The coolness in her voice made a grin tug at Blaine's lips. In spite of her determined coldness, he sensed an underlying layer of nervousness in her. He knew her well enough by now to know that whatever was on her mind was not going to please him, but strangely it only made him more curious. Winter felt his sharp eyes on her. It made the skin at her back of her neck prick with uneasiness. She glanced furtively at him, then quickly away wondering if he really could read her thoughts the way she sometimes thought. "The only thing I need is my clothes. And to find the three bastards that tried to take me apart." "Doctor Miller says you're to stay in bed for at least a week. You have four cracked ribs. They need time to heal," Winter informed him crossly. "Time is the one thing I'm in short supply of right now," Blaine complained. Still, he took the offered cup of coffee as he leaned forward with a grimace of pain so Winter could fluff his pillows, making it more comfortable for him to sit up. He sipped the steaming coffee carefully. His torn lip smarted painfully at the hot brew but he refused to give in to the pain. Winter cut the roll into small pieces, making it easier for him to get past the nasty cut in his lower lip, and settled back in the chair while he nibbled at it.


"Any idea who did this to you?" she asked after a few moments of silence. Blaine shook his head negatively. "I've never seen any of them before but that doesn't mean much. A hundred new faces a day pour into this town. I can't know all of them." He paused to sip at the coffee again, letting his eyes rest on Winter's delicate features above the rim. "Who took my clothes off?" he asked at last. "Rita did, and Waldo," was her quick reply. "You were quite a mess when Waldo carried you upstairs. All bloody and broken. Rita was very concerned." "I see," Blaine said thoughtfully. The girl's pink cheeks made him wonder if she was telling the whole story, then decided her nervousness must be caused by whatever it was on her mind. "I hope you weren't inconvenienced by my unexpected appearance." "Not at all. Rita had you put in her bedroom." Winter's brows rose just a bit as she studied him in the morning sunlight. "Though I'm sure it isn't the first time you've been here." The second the words were out of her mouth, Winter could have bit her tongue off. Whatever possessed her to say something so foolish she could not imagine, but the amused gleam in Blaine's eyes brought a flood of color into her already flushed cheeks. "Why, Winter, I had no idea you were so intrigued with my love life," Blaine drawled with a grin. Then his face sobered at the unexpected sparkle of tears that rushed to her eyes before she looked away. Immediately he felt a surge of regret, wondering at the same time why she was so easily upset. She must not be completely recovered from her injuries, he thought to himself while he studied her profile in the warm light pouring through the window. A totally healthy Winter would never be so sensitive to his


taunts. That thought worried him. He studied her thoughtfully for a moment. "You're absolutely right of course," Winter returned, forcing her bright eyes back to his face. "I didn't mean to pry. I only meant that it's quite obvious that Rita is very fond of you. That's all." "Are you feeling all right, Winter?" The unspoken concern beneath the words made Winter's head snap up. The unfamiliar tone of his voice sent a flood of warmth through her slender frame in the seconds while they stared at one another. There was a warmth in his eyes that made her squirm in the chair, so unexpected it was. When she looked again, it was gone, buried beneath an ironic amusement that turned his eyes cool and distant. "I'm just fine," she said quickly, rising from the chair to busy herself with the tray. "I've never felt better, thank you." Finally she looked at him directly once more, oddly regretful that the warmth had left his eyes. "It's you who is the patient now. And it's time for you to get some rest. I'll take this tray now. If you need anything else, just ring that bell Rita left for you on the table." She turned quickly with the tray and hurried toward the door. A few steps away from it, she heard heavy footsteps hurrying up the hallway, then an urgent knock at the door. Before she could speak the door swung open and one of Blaine's deputies scurried inside. "Marshal, sorry to bother you," the man said apologetically with a glance at Winter. "But I thought I better tell you what's going on." "What is it?" Blaine demanded sharply, sitting upright in bed despite the bolt of pain through his chest. "It's them Indians, marshal. They're down at the agency. Right now.


Demanding stuff, seed and grain and the like. Looks like real trouble." "How many of them?" Blaine barked. He threw the covers aside and swung his long legs onto the floor. Ignoring the stab of pain that shot upward through his lungs, he commanded his wobbly legs to support him and climbed to his feet. "Twenty or thirty maybe. One of 'em looks like a chief or something too. Gordon wants some protection, pronto." "Where the hell are my clothes?" Blaine demanded, looking at Winter now. Winter quickly put the tray on a table and scurried to the closet. She flung Rita's dresses aside until she located the hanger with Blaine's clothes and brought it out. He did not seem to notice how her shocked eyes ran up and down his lean, muscular body. The sheer magnificence of his body made Winter's blood surge into her face, made her pulse race. His torso was covered by the bandage around his broken ribs, dotted with ugly, purple bruises. She saw the pain the broken ribs caused him, but saw also the grim determination that filled his face as he got dressed as quickly as his battered body would allow. "You mustn't do this," she heard herself saying. "You're hurt. You're not able..." "I'm able enough," Blaine cut in gruffly. He glanced up at her as he reached for the gunbelt hanging over the poster of the bed. In spite of his urgency, he recognized the concern in her eyes and was surprised by it. Her face had paled, the large hazel eyes had filled with alarm, her lips trembled slightly while she stared at him silently. "As much as I'd like to see Gordon strung up by his thumbs, it's still my job to protect him."


Then turning to the deputy, he became totally professional again. "Round up the rest of the men," he commanded, meaning his other deputies. "Get down to the agency as fast as you can. But, Bleaker, don't start anything. Could be we can get through this without anybody getting killed. Let's try it, shall we?" He took his hat from Winter's shaky, outstretched hand and let out a gasp of pain when he'd put it atop his gleaming black hair. "Blaine..." she began, then her voice trailed off. "Blaine, you shouldn't..." Blaine didn't wait for Winter to finish the thought, but turned to follow Deputy Bleaker out of the room. As their footsteps faded down the hallway, Winter whirled to grab for the door. In seconds, she had rushed into her own room and dug the heavy revolver out of her night stand. Shoving it into the waistband of her skirt, she flung a shawl over her shoulders to conceal the weapon, then dashed out of the room, following Blaine as quickly as she could. Winter was panting for breath by the time she arrived at the agency. Her steps slowed automatically at the sight of the Cheyenne party waiting on the agency grounds. There were at least thirty mounted warriors, arranged in a semi-circle in front of the agency's front entrance. Winter quickly scanned each copper face, but saw none that seemed familiar. There was no war paint, no hostile motion among the Indians, just stoic, unemotional faces that revealed nothing. There was only one woman present, she noticed after assessing the situation. An old Cheyenne woman dressed in traditional deerskin clothing and wearing a beaded headband around her graying braids. There was a regalness in the woman's manner, a kind of grace that caught her eye. For several moments Winter could not take her eyes off the old woman's seamed face.


It was obvious that the woman was the spokesman for the group for she stood at the bottom of the porch steps, a few feet away from the men behind her. She was speaking to Marsh Gordon in perfect, although halting English. Winter was amazed at the woman's command of the language. Blaine had arrived only a few moments before. He stood at the edge of the porch, his keen eyes touching each face in the circle of Indians, then coming to rest on the old woman. Except for the slight narrowing of his eyes, there were no outward signs of concern. Still, Winter had the distinct impression that every nerve in his body was strained to the limit, every muscle tensed. Winter saw relief rush into Marsh Gordon's face when he realized Blaine and the deputies had arrived. Turning, Gordon hurried down the porch to where Blaine stood. "Thank God, you're here!" Marsh said with a gesture toward the Indians. "Having a problem are you, Gordon?" Blaine asked, making no effort to hide his contempt for the Indian agent. "They're demanding seed...and...and blankets...things I don't have. Why, they're threatening me, Dekker! What are you going to do about it?" Blaine's gaze swung to the weathered face of the old Cheyenne woman. Then, speaking in fluent Cheyenne, he asked her if Gordon had been threatened. The woman's black eyes glanced at Gordon's pale face, then back to Blaine. "No, he has not been threatened, Blaine," she said in Cheyenne. "We come in peace to take the supplies the government has promised us.


Gordon says they are not here. He says we must go back without the seed." She produced a piece of paper from beneath her deerskin robe and Blaine walked forward to take it. While he studied the paper, the old woman's eyes rested on the bruises on his face and the cut lip. "What has happened, Blaine?" she asked quietly in a voice so low no one else could hear. "Just a misunderstanding, Half Moon," Blaine told her with a swift glance upward into her weathered face. "Nothing serious." Then realizing they had spoken in English, Blaine's eyes veiled as he looked back to Gordon. "This says you have supplies, Gordon, that belong to the Cheyenne. Seed corn, tools, blankets, and other things. Where are they?" "I don't have their damned supplies!" Gordon insisted urgently. He walked a few paces toward Blaine with his hands outstretched, pleading. "Honestly, Dekker, I don't have the supplies they're looking for. They haven't arrived yet." Blaine looked past Marsh's shoulder at Deputy Bleaker. "Take the men and search the agency, Bleaker. Don't miss anything. Move it!" he said to the man in a low, soft tone. Bleaker and the others hurried into the building to begin their search. Behind them, Blaine turned back to the old woman. "If the supplies are here, my men will find them, Half Moon. And if they're not here I'll see to it that Gordon sends a freight train to Denver personally to get them." The old woman nodded and turned to face the circle of solemn faces behind her. Speaking in Cheyenne she told them what Blaine had said. For a moment there was complete silence, then one horse moved forward and Blaine heard a hoarse, but commanding voice. "Gordon has broken promises to the people before. We will not leave


until we have the supplies your government has promised." Blaine looked at the speaker, his eyes widening slightly with surprise. After a moment of complete silence, Blaine walked down the side of the porch until he stood at the speaker's horse, looking up into the weathered copper face. "Flying Owl!" Blaine said, staring up at the old man on the sorrel horse. From her position a short distance away, Winter recognized the respect that had crept into Blaine's voice. Glancing quickly at the old Indian seated so regally on his red medicine blanket, she realized this particular Cheyenne elder was someone Blaine not only recognized, but also respected. The old Indian nodded in return to Blaine's greeting. The black eyes were solemn, the weathered face unsmiling. Still, Winter sensed a silent affection pass from the old man to Blaine in those few silent seconds. "You have grown up well, na'," Flying Owl said solemnly. "Half Moon has said it was so, but I did not know until I see for myself. She speaks the truth." Blaine's eyes remained locked with the old Indian's while Winter saw a distinct discomfort flash through his face. It made her wonder if he was uneasy seeing someone from his past or if it was because the Indian had spoken in English that disturbed him. "You are well, Flying Owl?" Blaine asked him in Cheyenne. Once more the Indian nodded solemnly. Then, as though to dismiss any further discussion of personal matters, he pointed toward Marsh Gordon with the point of a brightly decorated lance. "The agent Gordon, has broken promises to the people," he repeated. "Gordon has broken the last promise to the people that he's going to," Blaine said in a clipped tone. "The people will have the supplies my


government has promised. You have my word on it." Flying Owl nodded. "We will not leave until we have the things we were promised," he said stubbornly. Blaine turned as Deputy Bleaker and the others returned from searching the agency. Bleaker walked up close and spoke softly so no one else could hear. "We found a few sacks of seed corn, marshal, and a dozen or so blankets. Not nearly what we were looking for. What do we do now?" Blaine glanced over his shoulder at the mounted warriors. Each one was heavily armed and though no one made any hostile movements, he knew well all it would take was one small mistake to turn the angry Cheyenne into a rioting mob. Glancing back toward town, he saw dozens of people from Gold River who had come out to see what was happening. They were armed too, to the teeth. Cursing silently, Blaine drew a long breath. One hand automatically went to his bandaged chest, grimacing in pain as his lungs swelled against the broken ribs. "Get the men back, Bleaker. Between us and the townspeople. And for God's sake, tell them to keep those rifles down. One wrong move and there'll be a bloodbath." "But there's just a few of them, marshal," Bleaker pointed out softly. "We got 'em outnumbered, counting the men from town." Blaine's handsome face twisted with a sardonic grin at the deputy's suggestion. "Obviously you've never seen what thirty Cheyenne warriors can do, Bleaker. If shooting starts, those thirty men can cut this town into ribbons. We may have them outnumbered, but we sure as hell can't outfight them. Take my word for it."


"Then what are we going to do?" Blaine did not answer the deputy's worried question. Rather, he turned once more to face the impassive old Indian. "Flying Owl, only a small portion of the supplies you were promised are here. Take them and I will bring the rest when they arrive," he said evenly. For a long moment Flying Owl stared at him in silence, then shook his head. "No," he said curtly in English. "If we do not take back what we were promised we will be dishonored. We will not go!" Blaine felt a cold bead of sweat drip down his back. His guts tightened into a fist in his stomach while he stared at the determined old warrior. He heard the rumbling of the townspeople behind him, felt the tension grow hotter as they waited to see what the Cheyenne would do. "You must come, talk to Two Feathers. Tell him how you will provide the supplies the people need." Blaine's eyes widened at Flying Owl's flat suggestion. The old man still sat proudly on his horse, as solemn and unaffected as before, but Blaine could swear there was a tiny twinkle in those hard ebony eyes while he awaited Blaine's answer. His first reaction was to tell Flying Owl to go straight to hell, but he choked back the words and clinched his fists. One glance at the armed warriors was enough to convince him that this avenue Flying Owl was offering him was the only solution to a highly volatile situation. Flying Owl observed the silent struggle in Blaine's eyes without speaking for he knew the young lawman would eventually agree to the meeting with Two Feathers. He had no other choice. Two Feathers had carefully seen to that. The seconds seemed like forever while Blaine weighed the alternatives. Finally the barest hint of a smile touched his mouth as he nodded to


Flying Owl. "All right, I'll explain to Two Feathers. Take me to him," he said softly. Crafty old bastard! he said to himself. He set me up! He planned this whole thing so I'd have to agree to meet with him! He glanced at Half Moon thoughtfully. "Somehow I doubt he's as sick and feeble-minded as you've led me to believe, na'go." "He waits at the grave of your friend Barrett," Flying Owl said solemnly. Then he gave a motion to the warriors around him and whirled his horse. In seconds only a thin cloud of dust was the only sign that the Indians had been there at all. Only Half Moon remained. She watched Blaine's unhappy face silently, then offered him the reins of her pony. "I will go with you," she said simply. Blaine took the reins and swung onto the Indian pony's bare back. Once he had mounted, he held out his hand to the old woman and she swung up onto the horse's back behind him, looping her hands loosely around his waist as he turned the animal. Winter stared open-mouthed as Blaine and the old Indian woman disappeared down the trail in the direction of the graveyard that occupied a five acre plot outside town. Although most of the conversation had been in Cheyenne, she had been able to follow most of it. Her father's journals and the years of study had at last proven beneficial, she thought triumphantly . At least she had been able to learn that Two Feathers' insisted on meeting with Blaine. She also knew that Blaine had been maneuvered into a position where he had no choice but comply with the Cheyenne chief's wishes. To refuse would have meant that many people would have been killed and Blaine could not allow that to happen. Winter also knew he hated the thought of meeting with the old chief. It


was in his eyes, in the tensed muscles of his face, in the very manner he moved. She touched the butt of the pistol inside her skirt band and nodded firmly. She had a general idea of where this meeting would take place and headed off in that direction, walking briskly. Blaine had gotten away without her asking him those all important questions this morning, but he would not get away without her hearing as much of this meeting with Two Feathers as she could. One never knew when valuable information might fall into one's hands, she reasoned with a determined smile as she plodded up the road after the Indian pony. And being able to understand a considerable amount of the Cheyenne language was a tremendous advantage. She might even hear something about Rising Sun. That thought quickened her steps and made her blood race as she hurried to catch up with the pony.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN Blaine's heart thumped against his rib cage, but he was oblivious to the pain both from the broken ribs and from the pounding in his head. He stopped the pony at the entrance of the graveyard and threw one leg over the animal's back and slipped to the ground. Beyond the picket fence surrounding the grave sites stood Two Feathers, dressed in his finest buckskin leggings and the regal headdress that announced his rank as chief of the Cheyenne nation. His copper face was impassive, his black eyes veiled as Blaine stepped over the knee-high fence and walked toward him.


Blaine halted ten feet from Two Feathers and waited, feet apart, his body tensed, his eyes wary, suspicious. Two Feathers was old, he realized with a start. Somehow he had never believed the man whom he had once respected above all men could ever grow old and sicken. There was a sharp pang of regret in his heart for all those lost years, then he quickly reminded himself that it had been Two Feather's decision that he should be banished from the tribe; not his. The old chief saw the instantaneous softening in Blaine's eyes, then saw it harden and grow cold. He did not move from his spot, but nodded in recognition. "Nixa, you have come," he said in throaty voice that brought back a flood of memories to Blaine's unwilling mind. "You gave me no choice," he said curtly, making no effort to draw nearer. "It is so," Two Feathers agreed solemnly. "It was the only way to speak to you. You have ignored my requests to come back to the people." "What is it you want?" Blaine asked coldly, ignoring the old chief's observation. "Speak to me in your native tongue," Two Feathers told him. His husky voice rose with impatience, his black eyes narrowed in the face of Blaine's pointed unpleasantness. "I am, Two Feathers. I'm speaking to you in English, the tongue of my father." "Your father was white, it is true, but your mother is Cheyenne. You are Cheyenne. You are my only male relative. It is my wish that you return to the people and take my place as chief."


A short, nasty laugh slipped past Blaine's lips. "Your wish! It was your wish that I be banished from the people. You spat on me and told me I was no longer Cheyenne! Now you've got the guts to stand there and ask me to come back like nothing happened? What kind of fool do you take me for?" A sadness came into the old man's lined face. "Much has happened, nixa. Many Cheyenne have died since the summer you were sent from the people in disgrace. Much time has passed. It is time to return. It is time to forgive," he said solemnly. Blaine tensed, his fists clinched in anger as he moved a step closer. "Forgive? That's real decent of you. But it's not you who has to do the forgiving, Two Feathers, it's me. And I don't forgive, or forget. "I made Flying Owl a promise to bring the supplies you've been promised. I will keep my word. I will find some way to prove that the agent Gordon is a thief and make him give the people what he has stolen from them. But don't misunderstand me, Two Feathers, it's not for you that I make this promise. It's for Half Moon and the people." "You call me Two Feathers," the regal old chief said sadly. "There was a time, nixa, when you were proud to call me grandfather." "Yes," Blaine agreed with a curt nod, his cold blue eyes narrowed. "There was such a time but it was many years ago. I was a child then, I believed that being a Cheyenne was the most important thing on earth. I lived only to please you. I believed you were next to God. I would have done anything for you!" "Everything but behave as a Cheyenne warrior should," Two Feathers pointed out sadly. "You betrayed your people. I could not let it go unpunished." "You taught me to follow my instincts, to do what my heart led me to


do," Blaine said in an angry, accusing voice. He felt funny inside. He knew his voice was rising, that he was losing control, but he could not restrain the powerful emotions tearing at him. So much time had passed, so much hurt had gone unresolved. He felt a terrible need to hurt this old man, as Two Feathers had once hurt him, yet he knew that wouldn't change anything. It might even make matters worse. "And when I did what my heart commanded, I was called a traitor. I was beaten like a mangy dog and driven from my home, from the only life I'd ever known. I will not forgive you for that! Never!" "That was your white blood calling to you," Two Feather said quietly. Blaine had turned and began walking rapidly toward the fence, but the old man's statement spun him around angrily. He stared at Two Feathers coldly while the Indian explained. "Many times I tried to tell you that your white blood would bring you pain if you gave in to it. You did not listen. You did as you pleased. You did not take my lessons seriously. That is what caused the trouble with the people...your white blood." "I am half-white," Blaine reminded him savagely. "I can not change that. And I will not apologize for it. Not to you or to anyone. Not ever." Two Feathers' worn copper features softened slightly as he nodded shortly. "That is good," he said in a lighter tone, his black eyes dancing at the surprise that filled Blaine's face momentarily. "A chief never apologizes to anyone. He makes decisions and the people follow. That is the way it is meant to be." Two Feathers glanced at Half Moon who waited on foot now, just inside the graveyard fence. "He will serve the people well." "No! Goddamnit! What do I have to do to make you understand? I am not going to be chief! I am not Cheyenne! I am a US Marshal! I have a life of my own. All I want is for you to let me live it."


Blaine's voice weakened, dropped in volume as he realized talking to the old chief was useless. Two Feathers heard only what he wished to hear, nothing more. "Your life is with your people," Two Feathers told him confidently. "You are a man now, a strong warrior. One who can lead the people to peace with the whites. It is your fate." Blaine's face tightened as he turned on his heel and walked toward the fence. He paused to glance at Half Moon who stood observing his sharp exchange with Two Feathers sadly, her dark eyes filled with regret. Blaine waited for her to speak, but she remained silent, in unspoken agreement with Two Feathers. "The white woman, Winter. It is said she is very beautiful." The amusement in the old man's voice spun Blaine around, his eyes narrowing warily. He waited tensely for Two Feathers to continue, knowing he probably wouldn't like what the old man said, but too curious to walk away without hearing it. "You say you are not Cheyenne, but you have taken Barrett's woman. You have cared for her when she was sick. No Cheyenne warrior could have done more for the wife of a friend." Two Feathers walked past Blaine. He stepped over the picket fence and swung up onto the horse Half Moon had waiting in the brush beside the trail. Looking back at Blaine, he nodded solemnly as he raised a hand in a farewell greeting. "Your heart is the heart of a Cheyenne warrior, nixa. There will be a time soon when you must choose between your life now and the life you know is your fate. You must make that choice soon. Your people are in great need. You may be their only hope." Without waiting for a reply, he turned the pony and moved away into


the brush. When he had gone, Blaine looked at Half Moon. The old woman did not speak for a moment, but merely watched him with sad, knowing eyes that made his teeth grind. "You should show more respect," she told him reproachfully at last. "He is your grandfather." Blaine snorted as he stepped over the fence, intending to head back toward town. Then suddenly his eyes widened with surprise when Winter stepped from the bushes to confront him. "Red!" he said, amazed. "What the hell...?" "I want to speak to her," Winter said boldly, motioning toward Half Moon. "I want to ask her about Rising Sun." "Oh, for God's sake!" Blaine exclaimed, his voice rising with frustration. "Well, go on! Ask her! Ask her anything your little heart desires. Be my guest!" he snapped with a wide sweep toward the old woman. Winter gave a small snort as she moved past him to face Half Moon. The old woman looked from Winter's pale, determined face to Blaine's angry one, then back. Her face remained impassive, but the ebony eyes sparkled with some hidden amusement as she waited for Winter to state her business. "My name is Winter Barrett," she began slowly. "I want to ask you a few questions." "I know who you are," Half Moon replied solemnly, her eyes twinkling at the surprise that made Winter's brows arch. "You wish to ask about Rising Sun." "Yes, that's right," Winter agreed urgently, moving closer. "Do you know him? Do you know where I can find him?"


"Rising Sun is gone. He has been gone for many years. He is not here." "Please, its terribly important," Winter pleaded. "If you can help me I'll be very appreciative..." Half Moon's ebony eyes locked on Winter's face without blinking. "Rising Sun is gone." "What do you mean? Is he dead? Is he somewhere else? Please, you must tell me!" "Rising Sun is gone. He will not return." "How do you know that? How can you be so sure?" Winter demanded impatiently. A deep sadness filled Half Moon's weathered copper face while she stared at Winter. "I know," she said quietly. "He was my son."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

"You never answered my question!" Blaine swung around to face Winter, the dark blue eyes narrowed, suspicious. "Which question was that?" he asked gruffly. Winter walked closer, her hands on her hips, her eyes accusing but somehow less hostile than when they'd had this conversation before. Blaine watched her, feeling his blood pressure rise, knowing there was


about to be another unpleasant discussion about Winter's phantom warrior. "I asked you if you knew Rising Sun, remember? That day when Shadow Dancer and his friends jumped out of the brush and..." "I remember which day," Blaine interjected wearily. He lifted one hand absently to his bandaged ribs, wishing he was back in Rita's warm bed. Anything would be preferable to this unnecessary confrontation with Winter. "You never answered me." Winter's eyes narrowed, her slender jaw twitched with determination. "However, I don't think your answer is necessary anymore. You not only knew Rising Sun, you were very close friends." Blaine's dark brows rose curiously. In spite of his physical discomfort and the emotional stress those few minutes with Two Feathers had caused, the girl's flushed, animated features captured him completely. Even the sadness in Half Moon's face when she'd left them faded from his mind for the moment. "Really? Just what brings you to that conclusion?" Winter moved forward quickly, snatched up his hand and jerked up his shirt sleeve to expose the small scar in his wrist. "That's what!" she exclaimed indignantly. "You have a scar, just like mine!" She released his hand and stuck her own wrist out for him to see. Blaine glanced at the scar she was showing him, then back to her face. "So? A lot of Indian boys have scars like that. What does it prove?" he asked casually. The insolence in his voice made Winter's teeth grind, but she was determined not to lose her temper and possibly throw away whatever chance she had of getting some kind of information from him. Instead,


she drew herself up with as much dignity as she could muster and took a deep breath to steady her nerves. "The scar alone proves nothing," she said carefully, watching his face for some kind of reaction. "But when you add it to the insufferable way you've refused to help me, especially when you, of all people, had the resources necessary to help me find Rising Sun, to the affection you obviously have for that Indian woman who says she's Rising Sun's mother, it can only mean one thing. You know him, and you don't intend to help me find him." For a second Blaine stared at her, his eyes cool, then he nodded and exhaled slowly. "All right, Winter, have it your way. Okay, I knew Rising Sun. Notice I'm using the word "knew". Rising Sun is gone, Winter, he's been gone for years. Like it or not, you're going to have to accept that and forget this ridiculous scheme to find him and kill him." "And the scar on your wrist? You and Rising Sun were blood brothers, right?" Winter persisted. Again Blaine nodded. His face had paled with pain from the broken ribs and he again rubbed absently at his chest, grimacing with the pressure inside his body. "That's one way of putting it, yes." He saw the disappointment that filled her face, saw her lower lip tremble slightly before she turned away. Winter walked away from him. Her eyes were filled with tears as she halted in front of the freshly carved grave marker that bore Ben's name. Through her tears, her brows rose in surprise at the smaller marker next to it that said simply "Baby Barrett." A sob formed in her throat as she turned to face Blaine who stood quietly watching her, his face calm, his eyes impassive. "Thank you," she mumbled with downcast eyes while she motioned toward the graves. Blaine shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. Her tears made him


uneasy. He didn't know why. He just wished there was something he could do that would comfort her, but knew the last thing she wanted was comfort from him. Winter turned back to the graves and stood silently for several minutes, deep in private thoughts. When she finally turned around to go back into town, she was vaguely surprised that Blaine was still waiting for her. He stood silently, his weight resting on one foot, while he stared off into the distance occupied with his own thoughts. When he realized Winter was walking toward him, he swallowed and straightened up, his eyes scanning her pale features. "You all right?" Winter nodded as she dabbed at her red eyes with the corner of her blouse. The movement revealed the pistol inside her skirt and made Blaine's brows arch in amusement. He looked away before Winter saw the tiny smile that tugged at his lips. Somehow the gun did not surprise him, but then nothing that Winter Barrett did really surprised him. "Tell me about him. Rising Sun, I mean," Winter prompted as she fell into step beside him. "There's nothing to tell. He was a Cheyenne boy and I was a Cheyenne boy, or thought I was." Winter looked up into Blaine's reserved, unemotional face, wondering how he could look so calm when everything inside her screamed for answers. "But you were close friends. You must have been or you wouldn't have become his blood brother ." "Rising Sun and I were more than just blood brothers, Winter," Blaine said with a heavy sigh. He glanced down at her as they walked toward town. The paleness in her cheeks was gone now, replaced by two


bright pink spots, one in each cheek. Her strides were shorter than his and he quickly adjusted his steps to accommodate her shorter legs. Her head was held high, her face calmer now, but still determined. Her hazel eyes were bright with unshed tears, but Winter brushed them away. Her chestnut hair gleamed in the early afternoon sun, turning it a shimmering shade of red that made the alabaster of her skin even more apparent. She suddenly looked very young and lost; vulnerable, almost helpless in a way that Blaine would never have imagined possible. "I'd like you to explain," she said quietly. "Exactly what was your relationship with Rising Sun?" "We were friends," Blaine repeated. Suddenly he felt like a boy again, as if he were trying to justify some childish act to his grandfather, knowing he could not. He drew as deep a breath as his injured ribs would allow and looked straight ahead. "Rising Sun was the Cheyenne boy I wanted desperately to be and couldn't. He was brave and intelligent and learned more quickly than anyone I've ever known. He was what every Indian boy should be. I guess that's why the two of us were friends. He was Cheyenne and I wanted to be like him so badly that I began to believe I was Cheyenne too." His expressive lips curled in a humorless smile. "Unfortunately, there was always someone around to remind me that I was a half breed." "Shadow Dancer?" "Yes," Blaine answered. "Shadow Dancer has been my enemy since the day we were both old enough to understand what the word meant. But...Shadow Dancer was afraid of Rising Sun. Rising Sun sort of became my protector. He taught me how to fish, how to ride, how to be Cheyenne. For what that was worth." "Rising Sun was a murderer. He was a liar, and a sneak and if he is


dead, I hope he died a horrible death, as horrible as the way my parents died," Winter exclaimed vehemently. When Blaine did not reply, Winter looked up at him again. "When did you see him last?" "The day I was banished from the village," Blaine grunted. "That was the last time I saw any of them until today. I'd be happier if I'd never seen any of them again." "Then Rising Sun is truly dead," Winter mused, more to herself than to him. "It's over then?" Blaine asked carefully, watching her from the corner of his eye. "I suppose it has to be," Winter said slowly. "There isn't much point in pursuing a dead man, is there?" Blaine did not answer but walked along beside her quietly, quietly thankful that this phase of his life was over. "What will you do now?" he asked at length. Winter looked at him surprised, as if she'd expected him to know the answer without having to ask. "Why, I'll find Ben's silver, of course." "And the job at Rita's?" "I'll keep it as long as necessary to finance the mine." "And if there is no silver?" Blaine prompted curiously. Winter's level gaze locked with his. "There is silver, Blaine. Ben was certain of it. And I'll find it. Somehow I'll find it." Blaine did not speak for several moments while they walked along the


dusty road. Winter did not appear to notice the dozens of heavily loaded ore wagons that crowded the solitary road into town even though several times she and Blaine had to step out of the roadway to avoid the traffic. Finally she looked back at him, her face faintly puzzled. "You must be roughly the same age as Rising Sun," she said thoughtfully. When Blaine did nothing more than look at her curiously, she explained. "One thing puzzles me; if you and Rising Sun were friends and if you are approximately the same age, why don't I remember you from my parents' mission school?" "Because I didn't go to school," Blaine grunted. He looked away, lifting a hand in greeting to a rider coming down the road from town. A frown furrowed his brows at the girl's persistent questioning. "Two Feathers thought it was beneath his grandson's position to go to school. Besides, I could already read and write and speak English before your folks came to the territory. My father was white, remember? He taught my mother English and she taught me." "So you never came to the school with Rising Sun? I never saw you there?" "I doubt it," Blaine replied gruffly. "Did you know my parents?" Winter asked curiously. Blaine's eyes swung instantly to lock with hers in a surprised gaze that made Winter fall out of step with him. "I met them a few times when they came to the village to persuade Two Feathers to let the children come to school. Why do you ask that?" Winter shrugged and hurried to catch up with his longer strides. "I was just curious. I remember all the children my father talked about, even the ones who didn't come to school. It's strange that he never mentioned you." Then her bright eyes widened. "Of course! I don't remember my father's mentioning you because he would have used


your Indian name. What was your name in Cheyenne?" "Jesus Christ, Winter!" Blaine said irritably. "Haven't you poked your nose into my personal life enough for one day?" Winter's face fell with disappointment when she realized he did not intend to answer any more questions. After a few strained seconds, she shrugged and tried a different approach. "Your grandfather is a very determined man," she mused, watching his scowling face from the corner of her eye. "He seems determined that you take his place as chief. He went to a great deal of trouble to arrange that little gathering at the agency. He must have figured it was the only way to force you to meet with him. I mean, he had to have known that you would agree to see him if it was the only way to prevent a fight where a lot of people might've gotten hurt." Blaine's dark blue eyes flashed to her face, his brows raised in surprise. "There's no way you could know what that was all about unless you understood Cheyenne," he said thoughtfully. The triumphant smile that lit her face made his teeth grind. "I don't know why that surprises me." "I told you I had made a lifelong study of the Cheyenne," she said smugly. The irritation that surfaced in his face pleased her immensely. Nothing gave her more pleasure than knowing he had underestimated her. "I didn't understand every word, but enough to follow the general direction of the conversation." Blaine looked away from her persistent gaze, wishing she'd be quiet so the pounding in his head would ease. He gingerly explored the painful swelling on the back of his head, then exhaled wearily. "What are you going to do about it?" Winter quizzed. "About what?"


"Your grandfather's insisting that you become chief of the Cheyenne?" "Nothing! Not one damned thing!" "Why not? You're obviously the most qualified man for the job. Why else would Two Feathers be so insistent? He clearly feels it's your duty. He wouldn't feel that way unless he was sure you could handle it," Winter observed. "And what makes you think I'm so qualified?" Blaine asked sourly. Winter ignored the sarcasm in his voice as she studied him thoughtfully for a moment. "Well, you know what it means to be white and you also know what it means to be Cheyenne. You know how the government works. You obviously have the respect of the elders of the council if Flying Owl's reaction is any indication. So you could probably persuade the two to work together. Plus you're young enough to be able to influence the younger men of the tribe to keep the peace." Blaine snorted contemptuously. "My first duty as chief would be to kill my cousin Shadow Dancer. I'd have to; he'd challenge my claim to be chief and he'd have the right." "Just because he's full blood Cheyenne and you're not doesn't mean he should be chief. As Two Feathers' grandson, that's your right, even if you're only half Indian," Winter told him with conviction. "Yeah? What kind of influence would I have on the other young braves if I kill Shadow Dancer?" Blaine challenged. "Sometimes respect can only be bought with violence," Winter said quietly. "My father's journal said that Two Feathers had to kill a time or two when he was a young man to remain chief. I would imagine that


after that the young braves would stay in line pretty well." "For a while," Blaine conceded with a sideways glance at her. "But times were different then. The Cheyenne were at war with the whites. Two Feathers was dead set against fighting. He knew the Cheyenne would lose in the end. He knew the army would come in and wipe them out. He did all he could to prevent it, but in the end, he couldn't hold the young braves back. And neither could I," he added with a meaningful glance at her. "So you're just going to let Shadow Dancer become chief and start another war? You're going to remain silent and watch this land be washed in blood again?" Winter demanded angrily. She had halted in the road to face him, hands on her hips, her lips set in thin, contemptuous lines. The fire in her eyes challenged him, dared him to argue. Blaine's patience was strained to the limit by the pain in his battered body. The constant throbbing in his head had worsened with Winter's accusations, made him disgusted and angry. "No, Winter, I'm not going to stand by and let Shadow Dancer or anyone else start a war," he said levelly with the last thread of patience he contained. "One move by Shadow Dancer and I'll send for the army. Does that satisfy you?" "What about all those dead miners?" "None of Two Feathers' people are responsible for that." "Then who is?" Winter demanded furiously. "I don't know. Goddamnit! Get off my back!" Blaine shouted. He


hated the way his voice rose, but he had taken all of Winter's barbs that he could. "Why the hell am I trying to explain it to you anyway? I'd be better off talking to a rock! I'm doing the best I can to keep a lid on this mess with the Indians, and nobody knows better than me that it's not enough. "I don't know what more I can do short of calling in the army and seeing the Cheyenne wiped out. I can't do that until I'm absolutely sure that they're behind these killings. In the meantime, I sure as hell don't need you to tell me how to do my job! I have a city council to do that." "I don't think you'd call for the army if you knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the Cheyenne are guilty!" Winter screeched furiously. "I think that in spite of what you say, that you're more Cheyenne than white! And I think that when it comes right down to it that you'll take their side, regardless of what they've done!" "Then you don't know much!" Blaine shouted back. "No? I know that you were raised Cheyenne and whether you admit it or not, that upbringing is responsible for the way you think and feel! You haven't outgrown it, or left it behind and you never will! Part of you will always be Cheyenne! Someday you'll have to choose between the Indian part of you and the white! Someday soon! God help the people of this town when you're forced to make that choice, because I don't think you can choose them over your Cheyenne heritage!" Fury blackened Blaine's eyes. The veins in his neck bulged from the force of the blood pumping through them while he glared back at Winter's angry face. She stared up him defiantly, hands still on her hips, her eyes bright and accusing. "I made that decision a long, long time ago!" he snapped furiously. His voice was flat, surprisingly unemotional in comparison to the sparkle in his eyes and the tension that flooded his face. "I discovered when I was a boy that as hard as I tried, Winter, I


couldn't deny my white blood! No matter how much my grandfather tried to teach me to bury it. That's why I was forced the leave my village. I chose to be white, Winter! I haven't changed my mind about that!" He turned on his heel and stomped off down the road without her. Winter stared after him open-mouthed for a second, then clamped her lips together as she hurried to catch up. She caught up with him and fell into step, but keeping up was a struggle. Blaine walked furiously, ignoring her short pants as she half-ran to keep up with him. Then Winter gave a gasp of pain when her ankle twisted in the loose shale and sent her tumbling into the ditch alongside the road. Blaine turned at the sound. Stopping short, he slowly retraced his steps until he was even with her. Winter sat in the ditch, rubbing her ankle and biting her lip to keep back angry, frustrated tears. In spite of her predicament, her eyes still blazed with contempt. "Well? Are you going to help me up or not?" she demanded furiously. "Maybe," Blaine drawled. The anger had left his face while he watched Winter's struggle for control. He let out a heavy sigh as he dropped to his heels beside her, wondering why the first sign of her tears stripped him of the ability to remember his vow to himself not to let her get close. "Only if you promise to stay off my back and keep your nose out of my business." Winter glared up him, alternating between anger and despair. Her ankle throbbed mercilessly and her hands were scratched up from the gravel when she'd tried to break her fall. "I don't have much choice at the moment, do I?" she retorted indignantly, rubbing a bloody palm on the hem of her skirt. Blaine examined the injured ankle carefully, then looked at her pale, strained face. "I doubt this ankle has healed from that tumble you took


at the mine. It's still weak. Walking around Rita's in those ridiculous high heels hasn't helped it any. Give me your hand." Winter swallowed and meekly extended a hand. "Most people think I look extremely nice in high heels," she said haughtily as he pulled her to her feet. "I didn't say you didn't look nice," Blaine grunted as he bent and swept her into his arms. Winter gasped in surprise. It was several seconds before she relaxed enough to slip an arm around his neck. "I don't think that high heels are very smart when you've got a sprained ankle," Blaine went on, ignoring her gasp of surprise when he picked her up. He walked steadily toward town, keeping his face averted from Winter's searching eyes. For a time she heard only the crunching of the gravel as he carried her along the dusty road, then she became aware of another sound; a dull but steady thumping. It came as a surprise to discover it was the pounding of his heart against her cheek. Instead of being alarmed as she would have expected, Winter smiled inwardly and settled down into his arms. The steady beat of his heart was a comfortable sound she decided. It made her feel secure, safe. She glanced up at the smooth copper of his face. The heavy furrow between his brows made her wonder what he was thinking. Her eyes lingered on the pulse hammering at the base of his throat, then moved upward to rest on the sensual curve of his lips. Her face pinkened at the unexpected thoughts that burst into her mind: thoughts about the feel of those lips against her skin, about the feel of his powerful arms wrapped around her naked body in the darkness of a summer night. She gave a visible start of surprise as she tried to shake those carnal things from her mind. The movement made Blaine look down at her quickly, his eyes filled with concern.


"You okay?" Winter could only nod weakly. She was unable to trust her voice, afraid it would be as shaky as the rest of her. Yet, she held his intense gaze firmly, unwilling to break the mesmerizing contact, for the concern she saw there warmed her in a way she'd never known. "I..I..this must be terribly painful for you," she stammered at last after wetting her lips. "I mean...your broken ribs...put me down, I'm sure I can walk now." "And have you fall down and sprain the other ankle?" Blaine said with a tight smile. "But your ribs..." "Never mind my ribs," Blaine cut in casually with another downward glance into her anxious face. "I'll live. Unless I drop you and break your leg. I doubt Rita would be very pleased if you're not able to work tonight." Curiosity arched Winter's brows at the mention of Rita's name. "Do you mind if I ask you a question?" "Would it matter if I did?" Blaine answered dryly. "Why do you...do you..sleep with Rita when there are other...younger women around?" Blaine's gaze snapped down to hold with hers in spite of Winter's pink cheeks and embarrassed eyes. "Why don't you mind your own business? I don't ask you who you sleep with." "I don't sleep with anybody!" Winter retorted indignantly. "I just find it curious that you'd choose a woman so much older than yourself when


there are younger, prettier woman available." "Maybe she gives me a discount." Winter's face flamed at the amused arrogance in his voice. Her mouth flew open to fling back some stinging insult, but they had arrived at Rita's door. Blaine dumped her unceremoniously into Waldo's arms. Tipping his hat to her flustered, sputtering face, he grinned. "See that Doc Miller has a look at that ankle, will you, Waldo? Mrs. Barrett had a bad fall. That's what she gets for chasing around after things that don't concern her." He turned on his heel and climbed the stairs without looking back. Winter stretched her neck around Waldo's shoulder, trying to see him as he mounted the steps, still trying to think of something insulting to say. Damn! she thought furiously as he rounded the curve in the upstairs hallway and disappeared from sight. He got the last word again!

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Marsh Gordon's eyes narrowed as he watched Winter greet the tall, lanky man climbing down from the afternoon stage. Marsh leaned against a lamp post across the street, silently observing Winter's eagerness when she took the bespectacled man's hand and escorted him down the street toward the hotel. "Who's that?" Willy Cooper asked at his side, pointing at the duo


mingling with the heavy traffic. "Jerome Cartwright," was Marsh's gruff answer. "Cartwright?" Cooper echoed, his nervous face breaking out in a film of sweat which he wiped at with a white handkerchief. "The mining expert? What's he doing here with her?" "I imagine she sent for him," Marsh answered curtly. He plucked a cigar from the case inside his vest and lit it, exhaling a cloud of gray smoke into the sky. "She's dead serious about reopening that mine. I should've known that she'd do something like this when she started going out there every day and digging herself." "What do we do now, Marsh?" Cooper asked anxiously. "Well," Gordon commented thoughtfully while his eyes followed Winter's slender figure into the hotel. "I've tried being reasonable; that didn't work. I offered her twice what I offered Barrett but she's determined, so upping my offer won't work. We could try scaring her off, but for some reason I don't think that would work either." "We sure didn't scare Dekker off," Cooper remarked in a shaky voice. "He's like a damned bulldog. We'll have to kill him to stop him, Marsh." "If I hadn't come along when I did a few nights ago we'd both be in jail," Marsh grunted sourly. "I doubt those thugs I hired would've kept quiet for long." "You should've let them finish the job." "I wanted them to beat the hell out of him, Willy, not kill him. Hell, if I hadn't hit him with a stick of stove wood, he'd have whipped all three of them." Marsh's voice held a ring of respect despite the cold gleam in his eyes.


"You're sure he didn't see you?" Willy asked nervously. Marsh shook his head confidently. "No, he didn't see anything but stars. Besides, if I'd let them kill him, those Indians would've made mincemeat out of me and this whole town the other day. "Dekker commands a good deal of respect from the Cheyenne, it seems," Marsh continued thoughtfully. "I don't know exactly what happened but one thing was obvious; Two Feathers listens to what Dekker says. There must be some way we can use that to our advantage." "What about Cartwright and the girl?" Cooper asked doggedly. "Cartwright will tell her if there's anyway the mine can be salvaged. We already know from our own studies that it can. And, less than five feet from the surface is a vein of silver so big it's worth millions. So our problem, as I see it, is to keep Mrs. Barrett from reopening the mine." "You've got a plan, Marsh, I can see the wheels turning in your mind," Cooper said with an oily smile. Gordon nodded as he straightened up. He crushed out the cigar and smoothed his suit coat. "I certainly do, Willy. Now, I'm all for Mrs. Barrett having Cartwright outline some plan for reopening the mine because it'll save me work when the time comes. My plan is very simple. Willy. I'll just marry Mrs. Barrett. That way the silver will be all mine and I won't have to hurt her to get it, not if she stays out of the way." Cooper's sweaty face broke into a startled smile. Chuckling softly, he clapped Gordon on the shoulder. "And besides the silver you'll have the delectable Mrs. Barrett too. Damn, Marsh! I like the way you think." Marsh glanced down at the smaller man with a sly smile as he nodded. "I thought


you'd approve, Willy. Now, you'd better get back to the office. Lots of miners need ore assayed. Keep me informed if you find anything promising." "Where will you be, Marsh?" A smile curled Gordon's lips. "Persuading the beautiful widow Barrett that she can't live without me, of course." *** Winter watched anxiously as Jerome Cartwright inspected the half-filled opening of the mine. In spite of daily trips to the mine to remove the rubble that blocked the entrance, a wall of rock still stood between Winter and her plans to see the mine in full production. Cartwright eased inside the opening to examine the interior as far as he could see. Moments later he rejoined Winter in the clearing between the mine and the supply shed beyond. "Mrs. Barrett, the mine can definitely be worked," the mining technologist began as he wiped his glasses with a white handkerchief. Then, seeing how the girl's face lit up, he quickly amended his statement. "Don't misunderstand, Mrs. Barrett, it will take a long time and cost a great deal of money." "But it can be done?" Winter asked hopefully. Cartwright's thin, unsmiling face looked thoughtful. "Yes, it can be done, but unless there's enough ore in there to make it worthwhile, I'm afraid you'll be wasting your time." "There is silver there!" Winter insisted urgently. "Ben was certain of it. Why, he made five dollars a day some days."


A weary smile touched Cartwright's thin lips at the girl's confidence. "Mrs. Barrett, five dollars a day may be enough to get by on, but I'm afraid it's far short of enough to finance the kind of operation you'd need." "Where do I start?" Winter asked stubbornly. Cartwright studied her determined features for a moment, then shrugged and plucked a notepad from his coat pocket. "First, you'll need teams and wagons to clear away the debris from the tunnel. Then you'll need several thousand feet of timber fourteen inches square and approximately six feet long. They'll be mortised and tenoned at the ends so they can be assembled in strong hollow cubes." He drew a figure on his pad and showed it to Winter. "Each cube can be interlocked with the next, somewhat like a honeycomb. These timbers will support the walls of the tunnel as you dig deeper, eliminating the cave-in problems most silver mines encounter. "As you probably know, Mrs. Barrett," he went on in a crisp professional voice, referring to his notes. "Silver rarely occurs in easily reached places. This gully is evidence of that. Not only that, but between most silver deposits and excavation are walls of rock, pockets of porphyry and sometimes massive sheets of clay. And silver ore is generally so crumbly that it won't support itself so the common methods of mining are impossible to use, such as the post-and-cap method or the room-and pillar method. "Therefore, the only safe way to mine silver ore is the method I've just described. These cubes I've shown you are three dimensional and capable of being extended in any direction so you can follow the vein no matter which way it turns underground." He looked around the immediate area, then pointed to the huge stand of oak tress at the edge of the gully. "The problem in most places is the availability of enough lumber, but I see here that will not present a problem. Of course, once the timber close by has been used up, you'll


have to build a V-flume to float the lumber down from the mountains." "How much money do you think it'll cost to get started?" Winter asked. Cartwright consulted his notes again and made a few computations. "I estimate ten thousand dollars should be enough to get the project underway. But, if you don't hit a rich vein right away, Mrs. Barrett, production costs could go much higher." "Ten thousand dollars!" Winter's voice was filled with dismay. She never dreamed it might cost so much. "My goodness, I don't have that kind of money!" Sympathy flickered in Cartwright's eyes as he stuffed his notes back into his coat. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Barrett, but I'm trying to be honest with you. I'm afraid mining is an expensive gamble." Winter swallowed back the lump of despair that filled her throat. Turning thick-lashed eyes to him, she managed a faint smile and extended her hand. "Thank you for your honesty, Mr. Cartwright, and your time. I appreciate you coming all this way. I have your fee in my bag. It's in the buggy." "Mrs. Barrett, there's no charge for my initial inspection," the man said as he took her hand in a gentle grip. "I only charge for my consultations if I'm retained for the entire project." "Nonsense," Winter snorted. She turned quickly and strode to the buggy to get his money from her bag on the seat. "You've come a long way and you must be paid for your time. I will be in touch, Mr. Cartwright, when I'm ready to begin excavating. I trust I can count on your expertise?" "Of course, Mrs. Barrett," Cartwright replied with an admiring glance into her bright eyes. "It will be a pleasure to serve you." He helped Winter into the buggy and clucked to the team. As they


rode back toward Gold River, Winter's mind whizzed with ways of coming up with the money to begin operations at the mine. After considering several possibilities, she nodded to herself stubbornly. There was only one way she could think of that would bring in the kind of money she needed in a reasonable amount of time. A shiver of apprehension spread over her slender frame despite the warm sunny skies. Yes, she insisted to herself as the buggy sped through the clear mountain air. It was the only way. She'd speak to Rita as soon as she got back to town.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

In the week that had passed since the beating, Blaine's bruises had pretty much healed. Except for the broken ribs, he felt much better that evening when he sauntered into Rita's Palace. It was shortly after dark but the streets were trouble free for a change, enabling him time for a drink between rounds. Rita waved from behind the bar so he strolled over and slid onto the bar stool. Rita filled a whiskey glass and pushed it across the shiny mahogany bar top to him with a mischievous smile. "I have news I think you'll find extremely interesting," she announced, still grinning.


"Yeah?" Blaine grunted, sipping the whiskey and watching Rita's animated face over the rim of the glass. The woman's heavily made-up face was wreathed in smiles, but there was something in the depths of her jade, glittering eyes that put him on guard. "What could be that interesting?" "I had a chat with Winter Barrett this afternoon." "So?" Blaine grunted. "What could she have to say that would be of any interest to me?" "She's decided she wants to work upstairs. Starting tonight. Why, I imagine she's up there right now searching for something really sexy to wear for her first customer. She's left it up to me to choose someone, you know? That's sweet, don't you think, Blaine?" "She's what?" Blaine demanded. He set the whiskey glass down so hard it sloshed over onto the bar top. "I think you heard me," Rita answered with a smile. "It seems she's discovered what it's going to cost to open that mine of hers. She needs more money. So, she's accepted my offer of upstairs employment. Can you imagine the kind of business she'll bring in? Why, when word gets out that she's accepting gentlemen visitors, they'll be lined up out front waiting for a turn. I certainly hope she has the stamina for this kind of work." Blaine's eyes had darkened with fury while Rita talked until now the veins in his neck bulged and the muscles in his jaws worked tensely. "Over my dead body!" he snapped furiously. "Now, darling, don't get yourself so worked up," Rita said soothingly while she patted the hand that gripped the whiskey glass so tightly the knuckles showed white. "Winter's a big girl, she knows what she wants. She wants money and lots of it and she's chosen the best possible avenue of obtaining it. Who are you to stand in her way?"


Blaine swallowed while his mind worked furiously. When he looked at Rita again there was a smile on his lips and a gleam in his eyes that the woman instantly recognized. "How much?" "How much what, darling?" Rita asked innocently. "How much money, damn you! You know what I mean! How much for an evening with Mrs. Barrett?" "Why, Blaine, are you suggesting that you be her first paying customer?" "Just tell me how much," Blaine said coolly. "Blaine, darling, if you're serious about this, you can have her for fifty dollars," Rita replied sweetly, trying to keep the laughter out of her voice. The look on his face was priceless. She had never seen him so angry and so calm all at the same time. Yes sir, Mrs. Barrett was in for quite an evening. Blaine reached into his pants pocket and counted out fifty dollars. Flinging it onto the bar, he slid it across to Rita. "Tell her that her first customer is ready," he said in a flat, cold tone. Rita slid the money back across the gleaming bar to him and patted his hand. "Why don't you pay her in person? I'll run up and see if she's ready. Shall I tell her who's coming to call or do you want it to be a surprise?" "A surprise," Blaine said with a cold smile while he scooped up the crumpled bills. Rita nodded and hurried up the stairs. ***


Winter nervously checked her appearance in the mirror once more. Rita said her first customer was on his way up, but Winter wasn't sure she was ready for this. Maybe she'd jumped into this without thinking it out clearly. Maybe she'd be better off to wait until morning when her head was clearer. She shook her head stubbornly. No, she had to get ten thousand dollars and this was the most expedient way to do it. All she had to do was think about something else and pretty soon it would be over. That was Rita's advice. And if anyone should know how to handle this business it was Rita. She poured another splash of wine into the glass on the night stand. Drinking it quickly, she poured another. Glancing at the wine bottle, she was surprised to find it more than half empty. Goodness, had she drunk that much? No wonder the room was too warm and her face looked so pink in the mirror. Oh well, she thought with a giggle, Rita said this stuff would relax me. Boy, was she ever right! Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all, she told herself with a glance at herself in the mirror. She had never been more beautiful, she knew that much. The satin nightgown in varying shades of green made her large hazel eyes look enormous in the dim light from the Tiffany lamp on her vanity. Her hair was hanging down her back in rippling chestnut waves. Her alabaster complexion gleamed with health. She smoothed away the goose bumps on her arms and had another glass of wine. She might be a novice at this business but she certainly looked the part, she thought anxiously. There had been a time just hours before when she'd have scoffed at the thought of selling herself for money. Funny what a few hours and a strong dose of reality could do, she thought, giggling. Her hand halted in mid-air while preparing to pour another glass of wine. She listened, then blanched at the definite sound of a knock on


her door. Putting down the glass, she squared her slender shoulders. Well, he was here. Her first customer was standing outside her door awaiting an evening of steamy sex and excitement. Winter giggled to think she knew absolutely nothing about either. Looking wishfully at the wine bottle, she hoped she'd be able to fool him. She tried to remember some of the tips the other girls had given her, but her head felt as empty as the wine glass she had picked up without realizing it. She forced a smile to her lips and threw open the door. A gasp of shock bubbled from her startled lips when Blaine casually walked into the room and closed the door behind him. "W-what are you doing here?" Winter babbled, afraid she already knew the answer. Blaine put two twenty dollar bills and a ten on her vanity top, then leaned back against the door. "Fifty dollars is a hell of a lot of money. I sure hope you're worth it," he said with a speculative glance at her trembling body inside the satin gown. "You're...you're..." "That's right, I'm your customer," Blaine confirmed with a thin smile at Winter's shocked face. "Something wrong with that, Winter? You don't like the idea of sleeping with me, not even for fifty dollars?" "N-no," Winter stammered. wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue. "I-I guess I just never expected you..." "No? You should have." Blaine's husky voice contained a taunt, a challenge that Winter caught even through four glasses of wine. "You're a beautiful woman, Winter, and I have the same desires as any other man. Isn't my money as good as anybody else's?"


"Of course," Winter answered automatically. " I just didn't think you liked me very much." "I don't, but that's got nothing to do with why I'm here," Blaine replied calmly. He dropped his hat onto the lamp table nearest the door and moved past her into the room. "Lust is an emotion all it's own. Didn't you know that?" "I-I guess not," Winter murmured, turning to watch him. She blushed when he noticed the wine bottle and quickly set the empty glass down on the table behind her. "You'll have to forgive me if I don't know exactly how to begin," she said meekly with downcast eyes. "I've never done this before, but if you'll have patience I'm sure I'll be able to please you." "Oh, I have no doubts about that," Blaine replied, hiding a grin. "I've paid for the whole night so there's plenty of time. If you don't get it right the first time, we'll just do it until you do." Winter's face went scarlet but she swallowed and motioned for him to sit down. "W-would you like a drink?" "Thanks," Blaine said as he dropped onto the edge of the bed with a tiny smile. "Looks like you've already had a few. Not nervous, are you?" "Yes, as a matter of fact I am a bit nervous," Winter retorted with a bit of her old defiance. "I've never done this before, not for money, I mean, and I'm sort of at a loss as how to start." "How did you start with Ben?" Blaine's question surprised her. She halted in the midst of pouring him a drink and turned to stare at him curiously. "I didn't. I mean..it just happened...it was over so quickly I didn't have time..."


"I see," Blaine said thoughtfully. He studied her when she handed him the glass of bourbon she'd poured, noting the tremor in her hands. "So you weren't much of a participant--more of an observer?" "I guess you could put it that way," Winter said with an uplifted chin. Blaine sipped at the bourbon slowly. Winter stood before him, waiting, her hands twisting nervously in front of her. The chill in the evening air made her nipples harden and tent the bodice of the satin gown. When she realized he was staring at her breasts, she shifted uneasily and rubbed her arms. "Look, I don't know much about this stuff so if you'll tell me what to do, I'll try my best to do what you want," she said at last. "That's fair enough," Blaine said calmly. He set the glass aside and stood up, towering above Winter in the small room. "Suppose you show me what I'm paying for." "W-what do you mean?" Winter stammered. She stared at him through wide, apprehensive eyes while he gestured toward her. "I mean take off the nightgown. I want to see you naked." Winter licked her lips, backing away a step. She felt light headed, almost faint. Staring into his intense cobalt eyes, she lifted one trembling hand to the strap of the gown. Her fingers felt wooden as she pushed the strap off her shoulder, then moved to the other one. When Blaine did not speak, she licked her lips again and pushed the second strap off her shoulder. Closing her eyes tightly, she shuddered as the satin material floated to the floor in graceful folds. He did not make a sound. Several long seconds ticked by until Winter found the courage to open one eye. The expression on his face flooded


her with color for she saw, for the first time, open admiration in the depths of those remarkable eyes. "Jesus!" Blaine said softly. He lifted his eyes to hers finally, wondering for the first time if he'd made a mistake by coming up here. The immediate stir in his body warned him that the situation was more dangerous than he'd thought, but the fire in Winter's eyes over-rode any warning signs his mind sent out. Winter moved forward, trying to remember what the other girls had told her. Her fingers felt clumsy when she lifted her hands to unbutton Blaine's shirt. He stiffened, then stood perfectly still while she slowly worked the buttons through the buttonholes and pushed it off his shoulders. There was a tinkle when the badge on his shirt hit the hardwood floor, but Blaine didn't hear it. His eyes were locked with Winter's while she moved to unbuckle his gunbelt, then the belt through the loops on his trousers. Her face burned, yet she resolutely opened the button on his trousers. Winter's eyes had narrowed and become hotter. Her breath was coming in short gasps. She suddenly wanted him to kiss her more than anything she'd ever wanted in her life. It's the wine, she told herself confidently. Only the wine. Nothing else could make me feel like this. She felt his hands on her bare arms, felt them sliding up to encase her in the firm circle of his arms. She felt the wild pounding of his heart against her bare breast as she moved into his embrace and lifted her face, offering him her lips. His mouth moved lazily over hers, gently demanding entrance. Winter's eyes closed tightly as her arms slid around his neck, pulling his head down. She answered his kiss without reservation, opening her mouth to allow his tongue the entrance it sought. Her body pressed tightly against his. She was astonished at the way her body took on a will of its own,


pressing against him, wanting to become a part of him. She felt light-headed when Blaine pulled her down onto the bed. His arms tightened around her, pressing him more closely to him. She felt the heat rise from his body to envelope her slowly, warming her flesh in a way that was both foreign and exciting. He was kissing her, she dimly realized. His lips moved down her throat to the pulsating throb at the base of her neck, then still lower to the valley between her breasts. She gasped in surprise. Then her surprise became sensual pleasure when his lips moved on downward to nuzzle at her distended nipples until she felt a moan building up in her throat. When it erupted in the silence of the room, her voice sounded strange, as if it belonged to someone else. She felt disjointed, as though this was happening to someone else and she was standing aside, watching it. Her body was aflame, her blood on fire with a desire so foreign to her it was unnerving. Still, she did not want it to end and pressed herself closer to Blaine's teasing mouth. She was astonished when her fingers loosened his trousers, pushing them down until his throbbing erection sprang out into her hand. She knew she should be shocked, knew she should scream and push him away, yet all she could do was moan softly and whimper when his erotic fingers opened her thighs and began to explore the hidden valley between her legs. His touch was gentle, yet provocative, evoking feelings deep within her body that she'd experienced only in the depths of her mind. She shuddered when he touched the apex of her being, arching her body upward against his fingers. "Blaine," she whispered urgently, tugging at his shoulders when he seemed to hesitate. "Blaine?" "Winter, wait a minute," he said hoarsely in her ear. "Wait...this isn't what I intended...Winter?"


Winter's fevered brain screamed for relief from the volcano building inside her. She whimpered, her lips caressing his face, his lips, her body arching upward. "Winter, you don't know what you're doing. Damn it, it's the wine, it must be. You've had too much to drink; you're not used to it. Stop it, Winter, let go," Blaine told her urgently, trying to disentangle himself from her eager hands. "No, I don't want to stop," Winter murmured against his mouth while her hands grasped his shoulders. Her long legs wrapped around his, holding him prisoner. "It's not the wine," she said in a husky, passion-filled voice. "Sure, I've had a few drinks but it's not the wine. It's me, I feel so...so alive...so...for the first time...please, Blaine, don't leave me now...make love to me....please? I want you to...really...please?" "No, Winter, let go. Damn it, in the morning you'll hate yourself and me..if it's possible to hate me more than you do already. Come on, it's just the wine talking." "If you don't make love to me, I'll find someone who will," Winter heard herself threaten in a foreign voice. "I'd rather it be you, but if you won't..." She opened her eyes, amazed to find the room spinning. She put one hand to her eyes for a moment, then looked up into Blaine's taut face. Smiling, she gently traced the curve of his lips with a forefinger, pressing her lips into the shimmering raven waves of his hair when his dark head bent to kiss her silken throat. "I've thought about you so much...after Ben and I...well, I've wondered how it would be to make love with you...to feel you against me in the dark...wondered if you make love with your clothes on...now I know--you don't," she giggled while one hand slid down his lean, sleek body.


"Now you know," Blaine said with a faint grin in the dim light. Her eyes were getting heavy, her lids becoming harder to hold open. "Winter, can you hear me?" When she nodded sleepily and yawned, he pulled her tumbled chestnut head against his chest and reached down to pull the silk spread up over them. "Winter, you mustn't try this again, do you hear me? Not with anybody else. The next man you get this drunk with may not be a friend of Ben's. God knows if it weren't for Ben what I might do...but I can't, Winter. I just can't. Do you understand? It's not because I don't want to, I just can't. Ben was my friend. I swore I'd take care of you and I don't think making love to you when you've drunk half a bottle of wine would be considered taking care of you." "So take advantage of me," Winter giggled sleepily. "I won't tell." Blaine's sensual lips curled in a smile as he tucked her head beneath his chin. Winter yawned and laid her hand on his chest, smiling at the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek. "Yeah, but we'd know, wouldn't we? I don't want you like this, Red, not for money. Can you understand that?" "Ummm," Winter murmured sleepily, snuggling deeper into the circle of his arms. "I did love him, you know," she said softly. "Rising Sun, I mean. I loved him more than anything in the world. That's why it hurt so much when he betrayed me. You know?" Blaine realized she had drifted off to sleep, but still he held her close, his arms securely around her sleeping body. He knew when morning came she'd remember little of this evening and knew that was probably for the best. Still, he kissed the top of her head in the darkness and relaxed against the pillows. Alcohol had a strange effect on some people, he thought to himself. With some it brought out the vicious side


of their nature, made them want to fight. With Winter it released the passion she kept in careful control deep within her. How easy it would have been to let his own feelings take command. He could've taken her and she might never have remembered it. He smiled ruefully above her head and shook his head. But that wasn't fair. He had suddenly realized that he wanted Winter, wanted her desperately, but only when she was capable of making that choice rationally. To take advantage of her condition tonight would have been wrong, dishonorable. He pondered her last sleepy statement about the Indian boy she'd loved and later come to hate so intensely. "If it's any consolation, Red, he loved you too. Enough that he laid it all on the line for you...and lost...but he was never sorry...never...He was only sorry that he failed you...that he couldn't save your family...that's the only thing Rising Sun was ever sorry for, Red, he was never sorry that he loved you." He tucked the covers around Winter's creamy white shoulders and settled down against her warm, naked body. Her soft even breathing told him she was sound asleep. He commanded his own body to relax. He closed his eyes and slipped off to sleep with Winter's soft, even breathing stirring the flesh at the base of his throat, his arms holding her securely.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN


The bright ray of morning sunshine peeking through the half-drawn drapes hit Winter directly in the eyes. She groaned and slid deeper into the covers in an effort to stave off the throbbing pain above her eyes the bright sunlight accelerated. She lay very still for a few minutes trying to remember the previous evening. Lifting one shaky hand to her eyes, she let out a muffled moan as the memories began drifting back in fragments. "Oh my!" she exclaimed worriedly. Forcing one eye open, she slowly turned her head on the pillow, afraid of what she would find. But Blaine was gone, his side of the bed empty. Winter stared at the impression his head had left in the pillow. A deep moan of dismay slipped through her dry lips. She covered both her eyes with her hands and rubbed away the sleep. She arose on very shaky legs, feeling along the edge of the bed for her robe and slippers. Her mouth felt like a ball of cotton and the pain behind her eyes was increasing in tempo until she was sure it would burst. She looked around the room, unsure of what she expected to find, then her eyes fell on the nearly empty bottle of wine. "What kind of fool have I made of myself ?" she asked herself aloud. "How on earth could I have lost control like that? Behaving worse than a common street trollop?" Then she remembered uneasily that Blaine had paid well for her services. Whatever had happened after that was all part of the bargain. "I knew that before I agreed to do this," she said firmly to her reflection in the mirror. Yet, her pale reflection did not seem to agree. Her eyes were blood-shot, her cheeks puffy and swollen and her bottom lip trembled in spite of her teeth cutting into it.


"What have I done?" she moaned miserably, sitting back down heavily on the bed and burying her face in her hands. Waking up naked, knowing somehow that last night she had behaved totally out of character, wantonly throwing herself into Blaine Dekker's arms, practically begging him to make love to her! What had come over her! How could she have let such a disgraceful thing happen? She stole a peek between her fingers at the mirror. She felt nauseous and sick with despair. Then her eyes fell on the crumpled bills still lying on the table. Her face went scarlet and sudden tears filled her eyes. She had actually taken money from a man she disliked immensely; sold herself for fifty dollars! The enormity of what she'd done washed over her. She felt sick and weak, barely able to lift a hand to wipe away the tears that had begun to trickle down her cheek. She suddenly realized that Ben would never have wanted her to sell herself for the money to open the mine. Ben would never have wanted his dream to come true at such an expense; the price was much too high. She sniffled, then hunted for a hanky to blow her nose. This done, she felt stronger and began to dress. When she had finished, she paused by the table to pick up the money, crumpling it into a ball in her hand on her way out the door. What she had to do was going to be the most unpleasant task she'd ever faced in her life. Yet, she knew that until it was done she could never look at herself with any respect. She walked briskly along the sidewalk. The summer sun was pleasant, the passers-by friendly, but Winter did not notice them. She kept her head pointed straight ahead, halting only when she had reached the marshal's office. She paused long enough to take a deep breath, then pushed open the door and walked inside. Her face was pale, but determined, her stance erect and much braver than she actually felt. Her heart lurched in her chest at the sight of Blaine's dark head bent


over a desk full of papers. For a moment she considered turning and running back to her room, but then Blaine looked up and saw her, and she knew it was too late to run. "Winter!" Blaine exclaimed in surprise. He laid aside the pencil he was using and stared at her, his eyes wide, as if he could not believe she was standing there. "What..well, good morning." Winter swallowed twice, searching for her voice. Slowly she saw the surprise in his face fade into amusement. His eyes began to sparkle, his lips twitching at her obvious discomfort, but he did not ask her business. Instead, he leaned back in his chair and waited for her to speak. "Want some coffee?" he asked when she hesitated a few moments longer. "It's probably not very good but it's hot...and I imagine you can use it." "Meaning what?" Winter blurted finally. Blaine remained silent until he'd rose to pour her a cup of coffee into a blue enamel cup and handed it to her. Her hands trembled noticeably which made his eyes narrow for a second as he dropped back into his chair. "Meaning that I've no doubt you have a roaring hangover. I bet you've got a splitting headache and your stomach feels like you've swallowed a week-old fish." His hands cupped a chipped enamel cup, cradling it between his palms while he studied her across the room. Winter tried to meet his eyes but could not hold his gaze more than a few seconds before she looked away. She licked at her dry lips and swallowed once more, trying to find the words to say what was on her mind. "I-I knew how to say this...before I got here...but now...I'm not so


sure," she stammered. She felt foolish and wished she had never come here. Hot tears pricked her eyelids but she blinked rapidly to keep them at bay. Blaine watched her silently, his eyes twinkling. She was wearing a faded denim skirt and a flannel long-sleeved shirt with the cuffs roiled up. Her gleaming chestnut hair was twisted into a loose braid that lay on her neck. She looked young and bewildered, as though she wanted to cry, but was determined not to. The shame that lit her eyes burned at him across the room, made him shift in the chair. "Why don't you sit down then. Until you remember what you wanted to tell me," he suggested dryly, indicating another chair near the desk. Winter shook her head stubbornly. "No, thank you. I-I wanted to give this back to you," she said hurriedly. She moved forward and dropped the crumpled money on the desk in front him, then quickly backed up a step. Blaine's eyes touched the bills, then lifted to her face. "Why? You earned it." Winter's face flamed but she swallowed hard and forced herself to look him in the eyes. "I-I-I'm afraid I don't remember much about last night..." "That's too bad. I certainly had a good time." The blush in Winter's cheeks deepened but the open taunt in Blaine's eyes rankled her, made her determined not to let him see how upset she was. "That's not the point. The point is that I made a terrible mistake last night. I did something that I knew was wrong and I did it for the worst of reasons: money. I realized this morning that Ben would rather the silver never be found than for me to finance the mine's operation this way."


"Does that mean that your career of sin and debauchery is over?" "Yes, it certainly does," Winter confirmed curtly. She glanced at the door, judging how many steps it would take to get her there and out of this small, warm room. She felt flushed and hot and irritated because she knew those sensations were caused by the memory of Blaine's lean, muscular body lying naked beside her last night, not because of any weather conditions. "At any rate, I want you to take the money back." "You're going back to being Rita's hostess and leaving the rooms upstairs to the other girls?" Blaine asked, carefully keeping the amusement out of his voice. When Winter nodded, he grinned slightly and pushed the money back across the desk top toward her. "Keep it. You earned it." Winter shook her head stubbornly and kept her hands behind her back. "No, regardless of the final...resolution..of the evening..I drank too much wine. and I acted foolishly...not at all the professional I should have been." Blaine's dark brows arched. "Professional? How could you act professional, Winter? You're not a whore; I never expected you to act like one." Winter looked surprised. For a long moment she kept her gaze level with his, then she looked down, her face pink with embarrassment. "I took money from you in exchange for...sexual favors. And even though I don't remember exactly what happened, I do remember enough to know that I...that we..." "Nothing happened, Winter." Winter's bright eyes flashed to his face in astonishment. Her mouth fell


open, then she quickly clamped her lips closed while she stared at him. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking for his face was impassive, but the solemn, strangely warm expression in his eyes told her he was not pulling some cruel joke. "But...but...I remember...getting undressed...and. and we were kissing...and and..." she stammered in confusion. "How can you say nothing happened?" Blaine nodded. "Yeah, we got undressed and we were kissing and we laid down on the bed but that's all that happened. I swear it." After a moment Winter's head lifted. Her eyes lost some that lost, vulnerable look that made her appear so child-like. "Even more reason why you should take the money back." Blaine studied the hesitant, unsure expression on her face. It was obvious that she wasn't sure she believed him. She nervously plucked at an imaginary thread on her sleeve and avoided his eyes, trying to think of something else to say. "I don't want the money back," Blaine told her after an awkward pause. "I think I got my money's worth." Winter's cheeks deepened with color. She glanced at him for a moment but could not make herself maintain contact with his cool, amused expression. "I'm sure you did," she said scornfully. Her voice contained more life than since she'd first entered the office even though it began to shake before she'd finished the statement. "I thought you didn't remember much about it," Blaine reminded her casually. "I don't!" Winter snapped, beginning to edge toward the door. "But I do remember behaving shamelessly...like...like a common...immoral...street... Drinking...taking my clothes off so you


could...could...see... letting you touch me in...in places Ben never even..." "You're being a little hard on yourself, aren't you?" Blaine's cool observation took her by surprise. She halted on her way to the office door to stare at him in astonishment. Tears stung her eyes, made it difficult to see, but the warm undercurrents in his voice flooded her with renewed shame. "W-what do you mean?" she managed to choke out past the lump in her throat. Blaine picked up the pencil and toyed with it idly, keeping his gaze on her face, making it impossible for her to look anywhere except into his eyes. "It was the wine, Winter. You got drunk, that's all. You're not used to drinking and when you had a couple of drinks to calm your nerves, it went straight to your head. That's why you responded to me the way you did." Winter blinked and stared at him. She couldn't believe her ears. Blaine was giving her an easy way out of the mess she'd made of things. It was so out of character she couldn't believe it. "Do you remember what happened after that...after we...uh. laid down on the bed?" he asked in a calm tone of voice that jangled Winter's nerves. She shook her head and lowered her eyes. "No, it's all a blur...it all runs together..." "You went to sleep," Blaine interjected quietly. "You went straight to sleep, right in the middle of everything." His eyes twinkled with humor as he couldn't resist adding, "That's the first time that's ever happened to me, Winter. It's not real good for my ego." "You expect me to believe that you didn't...that you...didn't take advantage of me when I was asleep?" Winter demanded. Her cheeks


now had two bright pink spots, her eyes flashed with contempt while she stalked back across the room to stand in front of the desk. "Surely you don't expect me to believe a story like that? You want me to believe that you actually behaved with some degree of decency?" Blaine stared at her silently. The pencil between his fingers snapped from the pressure he was exerting while he continued to hold her gaze prisoner. The humor in his face was quickly replaced by a slow building anger that Winter saw rising through him. "You can believe what you want," he said at last in a cold, angry voice. "If you want to think that I took advantage of you while you were asleep, then think it. But I can guarantee you one thing, Mrs. Barrett. If I had been as disgustingly perverted as to ravish you while you were incapable of defending yourself, which by the way, you didn't show the slightest desire to do, you wouldn't have to wonder. You'd know it!" Winter secretly knew he was right but her bruised ego would never allow her to admit it. She sucked in her breath, staring at him furiously, opening and closing her hands rapidly. "If you didn't...why didn't you? Answer me that!" Blaine settled back in his chair and let a frosty smile form on his lips. "Because making love to a limp bag of bones isn't something I enjoy." Winter's face flooded with color and tears burned her eyes. She swallowed back the lump that stuck in her throat and kept a retort from getting out. She wanted to throw something at him, to erase that cool, amused expression that had formed on his handsome face. Finally, she found her voice. "I doubt seriously that you're very choosy about who you sleep with! Anything that will lie down and...and...well...!" "If that was true, Winter, I'd have fucked you silly last night," Blaine said icily. His eyes had narrowed to mere slits and his face had paled with anger. "God knows you were certainly willing enough. As I remember, you were the one who wanted me to take advantage of you. Remember that? I didn't think so," he added with a stony smile


that did not reach his eyes when Winter shook her head vigorously in denial. "I don't want to hear this!" she hissed, backing toward the door. "I don't want to listen to your lurid, disgusting descriptions of last evening! I'm sorry I came here! I'm sorry I tried to make amends for my..my… poor behavior last night! But mostly I'm sorry I ever met you! You're nasty...and...and vile...and disgusting...and...and I despise you! You're a savage, Blaine Dekker! You were born a savage and you'll never change!" She whirled and ran from the office. As the door slammed shut behind her, tears began streaming down her face. She rubbed angrily at her eyes and stumbled into a passerby as she ran down the sidewalk toward Rita's Palace and escape. She mumbled an apology but did not raise her head to see who she had collided with for tears blinded her and shame and humiliation nearly choked her as she ran down the street. Blaine rose to his feet behind the desk as Winter rushed from the office. He rounded the desk in preparation to go after her, then stopped himself short. He cursed under his breath, snatched up the half-filled coffee cup from the desk top and hurled it at the closed door still vibrating from Winter's violent departure. "Goddamnit!" he shouted to the wall. Leaning both hands on the desk, he hung his head and silently cursed himself for being so cruel. He had said things he didn't mean, things that hurt Winter deeply, but when she doubted his integrity, his first instinct had been to lash back at her, to hurt her to get even for the way her harsh accusations had hurt him. "Well, mind telling me what's going on here? I just bumped into Winter on the sidewalk and she was bawling like a scalded hound. And now you look like you've lost your last friend." Blaine turned to Rita Malone with a black scowl. For a moment he


ignored her altogether while he deliberately took deep breaths to steady himself. Finally, he walked back to the pot-bellied stove and poured himself another cup of coffee before returning to his seat behind the desk. "Want some coffee?" he asked Rita calmly when he at last looked up at her. "What I want are some answers," she replied. She glided across to the empty chair in front of the desk and settled into it, crossing her long legs and folding her elegantly manicured hands in her lap. Her gaze touched the crumpled wad of money and she raised curious eyes to Blaine's carefully controlled face. "What's this? A refund? Don't tell me last night didn't live up to your expectations?" Blaine ignored the taunt in her voice and sipped the scalding coffee. He shrugged finally and looked at her directly. "Last night was just fine. It was this morning that the trouble started," he grunted. "What happened, darling? Didn't your little plan to scare Winter into giving up the life of a happy whore work?" Rita teased. "It worked all right, it worked too damn well!" "Does that mean that I can no longer expect her to make me a fortune in revenues?" Blaine snorted and shook his head wearily. "Oh, I broke her from wanting to be a whore all right." "So what's the problem? Why is she so upset and why are you so gloomy this morning? Didn't you get what you wanted?" "Hell no! I didn't get what I wanted!" Blaine said savagely.


"Well, just what is it that you wanted, Blaine?" Rita asked curiously. "You wanted Winter to give up the idea of becoming a whore and you say you succeeded. You took her to bed last night so what could possibly be wrong?" Blaine looked away from Rita's probing eyes, directing his attention on the enamel specks on the cup he was holding. After a moment understanding flashed into her bright jade eyes and a knowing smile settled over her expressive mouth. "She brought the money back which can only mean one of two things. One, she didn't feel you got your money's worth or two, nothing happened at all. That's it, isn't it, Blaine? You didn't even fuck her. Why the devil not?" "I don't want to talk about it!" Blaine snapped. He got up and kicked the chair out of his way. Muttering under his breath, he stalked to the office window and jerked the curtain back. Down the street he saw Winter climbing into Ben's buggy and driving away. "Where is she going?" he asked Rita, turning back from the window. Rita's slender shoulders shrugged beneath the expensive silk dress. "Probably out to the mine. That's where she goes every morning. To pick up rocks and stuff, you know, trying to get it ready to work." Her eyes widened when Blaine snatched his hat off the hat tree inside the door, then slung the door open and started outside. "Blaine, where are you going?" "For a ride to clear my head!" he answered sharply over his shoulder. By the time Rita got to the open door, he had mounted the pinto and was spurring the animal into a gallop down the street in the direction of the mountain trail that led to Ben Barrett's mine.


CHAPTER NINETEEN

By the time Winter reached the cabin, she had regained control of her emotions. Her tears had dried, her sniffles had finally stopped and her head had risen with dignity when she pulled the buggy to a halt in front of the house. By using the zigzagging trail down one side of the slope she was able to ease the snorting team down onto the gully floor in a half hour's time. Donning a pair of work gloves, she jumped down from the buggy seat and walked determinedly toward the mine entrance. She had been coming here every morning for weeks, yet only a small dent had been made in the enormous job of clearing the tunnel. Tapping her chin lightly with one finger, she stood in front of the opening, calculating how to go about removing one of the boulders that blocked the entrance. Nodding, she walked back to the buggy and took out a length of rope. After struggling for a few minutes, she eventually managed to tie the rope around the tri-cornered top of the boulder. Smiling with satisfaction, she went back to the wagon and tied the remaining end of the rope around the rear axle. She dusted off her gloves and went to the head of the team. Taking up the bridles of both horses, she spoke to them and began walking backward. In seconds the rope became taut and the horses began to strain. Winter kept up her soft, encouraging chatter, then suddenly found herself flat on her back, looking up at the horses underbellies


when the rope snapped. "Thunderation!" she screeched. She climbed out from beneath the horses and dusted herself off as she walked back to take a look at the rock. It sat exactly where she'd left it, huge, imposing, and very stable. She sighed and turned to take a shovel out of the buggy, then began digging at the layer of smaller rocks beneath the base of the boulder in hopes of loosening its foundation. Despite the cloud cover that blocked out the warming sun, her forehead was soon beaded with sweat and the hair at the back of her neck grew damp. Yet, she welcomed the hard work. It gave her a chance to work out her frustrations. Her heart felt heavy in her chest as she tried to shake off the feeling of guilt that had consumed her since awaking that morning and realizing the folly of her decision to earn the money to reopen Ben's mine by becoming one of Rita's well-paid doxies. Perhaps it was just as well that Blaine Dekker had been the man to tempt the waters of sin and corruption, she thought while she worked. Another man might not have had the same effect on her. She might have gone on with the game and lost herself in it. Still, she doubted secretly that anyone except Blaine could have set off such an explosion of feelings inside her. Her experience with men was quite limited but she knew there was a world of difference in the way her body responded to Blaine's touch and the way she'd felt with Ben. Why was that? she asked herself angrily while she attacked the cave-in with her shovel. It was disconcerting enough to know that she found him so handsome and exciting, but now she had to face the fact that she'd melted in his arms like a bowl of warm butter. The wine, Blaine suggested generously, was the culprit here, she


thought sternly. But she knew the wine was only the catalyst to last night's disaster. True, the wine had loosened her tongue and made her more pliable to Blaine's charms, but she would never have responded to him so wantonly if there wasn't some other basis for it. That's ridiculous, she told herself sternly, pausing to wipe her brow with the back of one hand. It was Blaine's experience that gave him such an edge, made her helpless against the feelings he knew exactly how to bring alive deep within her. It wasn't fair! Her face flushed with color at the thought of how good she had felt in his arms. It was a sensation she'd never known before, a strange combination of security and desire that puzzled her. She vaguely remembered the touch of his lips, the tantalizing exploration of his hands over her naked body. One thing she did remember quite clearly was her reaction to the sight and touch of his naked body against hers in the dimly lit room. His body was just as impressive naked as she'd suspected it would be; lean, muscular, the same shade of soft copper all over. She remembered touching him, undressing him, remembered the feeling of triumph when she saw him naked for the first time and realized he was as excited as she. And then he said nothing happened! She leaned on the shovel handle to catch her breath and exhaled deeply. It must be true because she felt sure that if Blaine had made love to her, even if she was out cold, she would have known it this morning. Somehow she was sure no woman would ever have to wonder if Blaine had... The crunch of gravel behind her startled her out of her thoughts. Turning, she saw three men approaching on foot. Glancing toward the buggy, she saw the rifle on the seat and began running for it. But she was too far away and before she could grab the gun, one of the men snatched it up out of her reach.


Winter backed up a step, her eyes flashing from one unshaven face to the next. They were all three smiling as though they meant no harm, but there was a glitter in their eyes that sent warning signals screaming through Winter's brain. "Who are you? What do you want?" she demanded with as much coldness as she could muster. The biggest of the trio held her rifle. He smiled pleasantly as he tossed the rifle from one hand to the other while he stared at her. His eyes ran up and down her slowly, like a hungry dog eyeing a bone. Winter's blood chilled. "Want? Why, we don't want nothing, little lady," the big man said with a smile. "At least nothing you'll mind parting with." "This is private property," Winter said sharply. "You're trespassing." "No kidding?" the big man drawled with another smile. "Why, we're just passing through and we saw you down here, all by yourself. We thought you might be lonesome so we dropped in to keep you company for awhile. And you're not being very hospitable." "Get off my land!" Winter demanded furiously. She backed up another step, still clutching the shovel. The three men began moving toward her in a semi-circle. All at once their smiles disappeared and Winter realized their intentions. Her mouth went dry and her legs felt like rubber as they closed in on her. Then, her startled mind screamed for her to run and she whirled, flinging the shovel into the groin of the man nearest her. He let out a squeal as Winter ran past him and headed for the slope. She was a quarter of the way up it when she felt a huge hand grab the neck of her shirt. She was jerked off her feet when the shirt ripped. She fell to her knees but was up in a second and scrambling up the grassy incline.


Below her she heard the thud of heavy footsteps and the angry cursing as the men began climbing after her. She saw the top of the slope and gasped a breath of relief when suddenly the bigger man grabbed her foot and yanked her back down the steep bank. Winter's head hit the hard-packed dirt with a thud. Stars flickered in front of her eyes for a moment and she thought she was going to vomit. Her mind spun dizzily, made her limp and helpless, and then cold reality came flooding back when she felt the buttons of the shirt ripped apart and the cool wind hit her exposed skin. Her voice came back with a gasp and she began to scream, over and over at the top of her lungs. The big man hit her, knocked her half-unconscious to shut off the screams as he knelt above her, his knees on either side of her, pinning her arms to the ground. Winter vaguely tasted blood, but was too dazed to realize it was her own seeping into her mouth from the lip that split from the big man's blow. Struggling wildly, she managed to get one foot free. She kicked with all her strength, landing a blow in the man's crotch that rocked him backwards off her legs. While he gasped and clutched at himself in pain, Winter scrambled to her feet and made another desperate attempt to reach the top of the slope. But the other two attackers were too fast and caught her within a few feet. They drug her back down the grassy bank, clutching and tearing at her clothes between peals of laughter and curses at her continued struggling. Winter felt their grasping hands on her exposed body, felt a sick despair settle upon her for she realized she was no match for their superior strength and numbers. Sobs tore at her throat, but she choked them back and sank her teeth into the hairy wrist that got within reach. The waistband on her skirt was ripped loose and she felt the cool air hit her thighs as the big man got back his wind and peeled it down off


her hips. She tried to struggle, tried to scream, but her arms were pinned to the ground and the man's knee in her stomach forced all the air from her lungs. Her hair had come loose in the struggle and now twisted around her face, giving her a strange, unconnected view of the leering faces above her. Helpless now, she closed her eyes and bit her lip to keep back the pleas for mercy she knew would not be heard. The best she could hope for now was that it would be over quickly and that they would leave without killing her.

*** Blaine's handsome face was a mask of irritation as he rode toward the mine. He had left Gold River right after Winter, but before he could reach the end of town he'd been stopped due to a saloon brawl in the Hog's Head that had ended with two people shot and several more in jail. More than an hour and a half had passed since he'd seen Winter leave town but his desire to talk to her had not eased. He didn't really know what he expected to accomplish besides getting another dose of Winter's scathing tongue but the look on her face when she'd fled his office would not leave his thoughts. Half way to the mine an eerie feeling came upon him. The hair on the back of his neck rose with warning but he knew that looking back over his shoulder would prove nothing. Whoever or whatever was following him could not be seen, but he felt their presence nonetheless, a few hundred yards to his right, almost abreast of him as he rode through the trees Thunder crashed and he looked toward the sky. Heavy storm clouds were moving in rapidly. Already the sun was gone, covered by black


rain clouds interlaced with streaks of lightning that split the sky into lacy designs. The inclement weather brought his thoughts back to Winter. "It'll serve her right if she gets caught in a flash flood," he said aloud as he pulled his collar closer to ward off the chill in the wind. The howl from the wind in the treetops made the pinto dance and snort in alarm, but Blaine's mind was still on Winter and how quickly the gully surrounding the mine could become a raging inferno of flood waters rushing down from higher ground. It was already raining in the high country, he thought with a glance up the mountain. It was only a short time until the gully would be flooded. That thought made him urge the pinto into a faster gait. It also made him forget about his shadow in the trees. He was still some distance from the mine when he heard the first scream. The little horse froze, his ears sticking straight up and twitching toward the sound. Then Blaine heard it again, shrill and panicky, and knew it was Winter's voice. He set his spurs to the pinto's flanks and raced toward the clearing that opened into Ben's yard. He saw with one glance the three horses grazing peacefully on the long summer grass near the porch of the little cabin, but knew Winter's screams were coming from the mine at the foot of the slope. The little pinto negotiated the steep path down the far side of the incline gracefully and in seconds burst into the clearing near the mine. Rage spurted through Blaine's blood at the sight of Winter being mauled by three laughing men. He sent the pinto up the slope toward them, yanking his Winchester from the boot at the same time. Within seconds he was close enough to swing the heavy oak stock of the rifle into the biggest man's head, knocking him off Winter's inert body sprawled on the grass. The man


did a flip sideways and lay still. His two companions leaped to their feet and dug for their guns in wide-eyed desperation, but Blaine was faster. Only two shots rang out in the stillness, then the two drifters fell face down in the grass, both dead before they hit the ground. Blaine slid the horse to a stop and jumped from the saddle. Dropping to his knees in the grass, he gathered Winter into his arms and cradled her head against his chest. She was unconscious, a trickle of blood stained her lower lip and chin and Blaine wiped it away. Her clothes were badly torn and much of her exquisite body was exposed. But Blaine saw only the bruises forming on her shoulders and thighs from the grasping hands of her attackers. He forced himself to stay calm and look for serious injuries but didn't see any. She was bruised and scratched but the wounds were superficial. She began to stir, her eyes fluttering open, then widening in horror as the memories flooded back. She gasped, her lips trembling with fright, then gave a huge sigh when she recognized Blaine's face. Whimpering his name, she sat upright and climbed into his arms, holding onto him tightly and sobbing into his shirt. "Blaine, it was awful..."she cried against his chest. "Those awful, awful men... "Shhhh, it's all right now, Red. Nobody's gonna hurt you, I swear it," Blaine said soothingly in the tangled chestnut mane. Winter sat up and wiped at her eyes and nose with her torn shirt sleeve. She gulped down large breaths of fresh air as slowly the urge to vomit subsided. Finally she looked around and saw the two dead men sprawled on the grass. Her eyes flashed back to Blaine's concerned face. "You...You..." she stammered with a gesture toward the bodies.


"Yeah," Blaine grunted. "Think you can walk?" Winter nodded and leaned on him while they both rose to their feet. Suddenly her eyes widened and a gasp of alarm burst from her lips while she stared over Blaine's shoulder as the big thug came to his feet, reaching for his rifle. "Blaine, look out!" she shouted. Blaine pushed her away out of danger and whirled, his hand streaking for the Colt on his hip. The gun cleared his holster but before he could fire, there was a swoosh, then a dull thud and the big thug fell face down at his feet. The arrow protruding from his back still vibrated from the thrust of an expert marksman's bow, the feathers at the end gently ruffling in the brisk wind. "My God!" Winter cried, pointing toward the top of the slope. "Look!" Blaine didn't have to look. He knew what he'd see. Still, he turned to look toward the crest of the incline. A grim smile touched his mouth at the sight of the lone Cheyenne warrior mounted on a blaze-faced black positioned against the horizon. Then as quickly as he'd appeared, the warrior turned his horse and was gone back into the mist that had covered the mountain. When Blaine looked back at Winter's puzzled face, he smiled and took her arm. "My guardian angel," he grunted as he led her up the slope toward the cabin. "I don't understand." "Neither do I, not exactly anyway," Blaine explained. "He's been following me for days now. I've never seen him but I knew he was


there. Turned out to be a damned good thing too." "He saved your life," Winter marveled, glancing at Blaine's impassive profile as they neared the top of the slope. "Why? Who is he?" "I don't know who he is," Blaine replied. "But I know who sent him." "Two Feathers?" Winter suggested. Blaine's curt nod was his only answer. His eyes had gone bleak and filled with frustration. It seemed Two Feathers had not taken his refusal to rejoin the tribe seriously. His grandfather was a determined old bastard, Blaine thought with a wry grin. But he'd have to get used to idea of failure, regardless of the fact that his watchdog had saved Blaine's life today. It changed nothing. The first drops of rain began pelting down on them as they neared the cabin. Winter hesitated, holding back at the thought of reentering the home she'd shared so contentedly with Ben. "Winter, I realize this may be difficult for you, but we're in for a summer thunder storm. The house is the only shelter for miles. What do you say?" Winter looked up at him, surprised at the gentleness in his voice. His dark cobalt eyes studied her thoughtfully, waiting for a response. Finally, she nodded and swallowed the lump in her throat. "Of course, it's the only logical place to escape the storm. The house is cozy and tight and if you'll build a fire I'll find something to eat." "First you'd better find some more clothes," Blaine pointed out without looking at the rich display of feminine flesh her torn clothing revealed. "And while you're doing that, I'll bring up the team and load up...our friends." Winter's face flooded with embarrassment when she finally realized the


condition of her clothing. But the initial embarrassment faded into curiosity at the pointed way Blaine was avoiding looking at her. Somehow she'd have preferred his leering, obscene comments to the calm, almost embarrassed expression that had come into his face. He opened the door of the house and hurriedly started a fire in the stone fireplace, then left her alone while he went back out into the pouring rain to bring her team to the safety of higher ground and to load up the bodies of her attackers. Winter watched him run toward the mine and bit her knuckle. He couldn't get away from her fast enough. She wondered why that disturbed her so.

CHAPTER TWENTY

When Blaine returned to the cabin a while later, the aroma of freshly perked coffee greeted him. He opened the door and ducked in out of the rain, almost colliding with Winter. She forced a tight smile as she reached to take his dripping hat and hung it on the deer horns just inside the door. "You're soaked," she observed with a faint blush when she saw how the rain-drenched shirt clung to his broad shoulders. "I've laid out something of Ben's that ought to fit you," she added with a motion toward the sheet partition that separated the living quarters from the sleeping quarters of the cabin.


Blaine nodded without speaking and went behind the curtain. Winter busied herself by taking down two cups from the cupboard above the kitchen window, trying not to listen to him undressing. "Is my team all right?" she asked to make conversation. "Yes, I unhitched them and put them in the lean-to with my horse," came Blaine's voice from behind the curtained area. "I was trying to move that big rock, you know the one's that blocking the entrance," Winter babbled on with her back to the curtain. "I thought I could move it with the horses but the rope broke and I---" She broke off when she realized Blaine had reappeared and was standing in front of the fire watching her. He had changed into a pair of Ben's denim trousers and a cotton work shirt. His long black hair had curled from the rain and hung in damp ringlets around his face. She noted that he had not put the gunbelt back on but hung it across the back of a chair near the fire. He and Ben were near the same size but Blaine's body was more muscular through the chest and shoulders so the shirt fit snugly on him where it had been a bit loose on Ben. It was amazing what a couple of muscles could do, Winter thought, then flushed guiltily. She turned away to cover her embarrassment, hurriedly filling two cups with coffee and held one out. Blaine moved to take it, his brows rising curiously at the nervous way Winter flinched and drew away when their hands touched during the transfer. He moved back to the fireplace and sipped the coffee, watching her over the rim of the cup. She too had changed clothes. Instead of the torn shirt and dirty skirt, she was wearing a simple blue and white gingham dress. Blaine liked the way it emphasized her slender hips and long legs, but it was the bodice of the garment that captured his attention. The coolness of the


cabin had caused Winter's nipples to harden and swell against the fabric. She saw him look away quickly and glancing down, saw what he'd been staring at. Embarrassment flooded her face, but the pointed way Blaine avoided looking at her made her curiosity rise as well. "Looks like the rain's set in for awhile," she said after wetting her lips. "I'm sure there's enough food around here for a meal. I'll see what I can find." Blaine settled into a chair near the fire and sipped the hot coffee while she dug through cupboards in search of canned goods. He took a long look around the cabin, then looked back at Winter. "I don't think I ever told you," he said at last. "I like what you've done to this place. Funny what curtains and a rug or two will do, isn't it? I guess Ben never had time for such things but what you've done makes this place feel like a real home." Winter turned to stare at him in surprise. When their eyes met across the small room, it was Blaine who looked away first. "Thank you," Winter said quietly. "It is a pleasant house, small and cozy. It's the first real home I've had since I was eight years old. "All those years in the orphanage, I'd lay awake at night and dream about a house of my own. I planned each curtain, each dish, every single thing about it." She stopped talking, suddenly embarrassed, and quickly went back to preparing supper. She pulled the kitchen curtain open to look out into the steady rain. "I haven't thanked you yet," she said in a stronger voice. "For saving my life again. That makes twice, doesn't it?"


"I haven't been counting," Blaine replied from the fireplace. Winter put down her paring knife as she turned to face him, drying her hands on a dish towel. "If I were Cheyenne I'd believe that my life belongs to you forever. Isn't that what they believe? Save a life and it's yours?" Blaine's wide shoulders moved in a slight shrug. He lifted the cup to his lips, then rubbed absently at his mustache while he returned Winter's stare. "Then it's a good thing you're not Cheyenne. I don't much think you'd like having me own your life," he grunted, looking into the flames. "No, I'm sure I wouldn't," Winter answered quickly. "But I am grateful, Blaine. If you hadn't come along today when you did...well, those awful men would have raped me, then they would've killed me. I'm grateful that you saved my life." Blaine raised his intense cobalt gaze back to lock with Winter's. He saw the sincerity behind her words, saw also the lingering embarrassment from the previous night's encounter. "Forget it." "Forget it?" Winter echoed. "You saved my life out there and you had to kill to do it. I'm not likely to forget that." "I'd probably killed them eventually anyway," Blaine grunted. "Those were the same three guys who beat the hell out of me a few days ago. Sooner or later I'd have caught up with them. So, it's not that big a deal." "You killed two men; doesn't that bother you?" Winter asked, her fingers twisting the dishtowel into a tangled mess. Blaine sighed heavily as he rose to his feet. "Winter, I don't want to have another argument with you. I'm afraid I don't share your ability in


that field." "I don't want to argue either," Winter murmured contritely. "But I would like to hear the answer to my question." Blaine shrugged and put down his cup. He picked the Colt out of the holster and turned it gently over in his hands. "The truth is, no, I guess it doesn't bother me much. I've killed before and no doubt I'll have to again, but the men I've killed were either breaking the law or trying their damnedest to kill me. Maybe that makes a difference, I don't know." "You don't sound much like a Cheyenne warrior," Winter commented thoughtfully. She watched him put the pistol back into the holster and moved back when he came into the kitchen to refill his coffee cup. "Does your grandfather know how you feel about killing?" "He should; whatever I learned about killing, he taught me." Blaine's voice was bitter, his phenomenal eyes bleak. "He taught me that to kill your enemy with honor is life's greatest achievement." He gave a short laugh and glanced at Winter's watchful face. "Unfortunately, I haven't found much honor in killing anybody. It's just part of my job, something I have to do once in a while, but it's not something I particularly enjoy." "But it's not something you run away from," Winter suggested. Blaine shook his head and poked at the fire with the toe of a wet boot. "No, I don't run from it." "What do you run from, Blaine, besides your Cheyenne heritage?" Blaine's broad shoulders tensed, straining the faded blue shirt. He stood still for a moment with his back still turned, but when he turned around to face her, Winter was amazed by the smile on his face. "Nothing that I know of, Winter. The only thing I run from is my Cheyenne life," he said pleasantly. His white, perfectly formed teeth


flashed beneath the black mustache at the surprise on Winter's face. "No one can ever say you're not direct, can they, Winter?" Winter felt her cheeks grow warm, not so much from his comment but from the way her eyes were compelled to linger on the swell in the crotch of the snug-fitting trousers. The masculine bulge between his thighs brought to mind all too clearly the memories of how the sight of his naked body had affected her the night before. "I'm sorry," she murmured, looking away. "I promised myself I wouldn't ask you anymore personal questions." "Thanks, I appreciate that," Blaine said dryly for he doubted if she could keep such a promise. Winter turned back to the pan of potatoes on the counter and began peeling them once more. "What are you going to do about the supplies the Indians were promised?" "I've been in contact with Denver. A wagon train is on its way here now. Of course, this rain will slow them down but they should reach Gold River early next week. They're accompanied by a detachment of cavalry from Fort Madison, just to make sure they don't have any trouble getting here. I don't want Gordon to have anymore excuses." Winter nodded in understanding, then gave a squeal of pain. She dropped the knife onto the counter and grabbed her right thumb with her left hand and squeezed it. Instantly Blaine was beside her, gently prying her fingers away so he could appraise the damage. "It's not too bad, just a nick," he said after a moment. Winter had begun to tremble. She felt weak and flushed and bit her lip to keep back unexpected tears while Blaine bandaged the cut. When she finally raised her eyes to his, she was unable to maintain contact


with his eyes. "I'm sorry," she said weakly. "I can't seem to stop shaking. I'm sorry." The warmth that came into Blaine's face increased the frantic pounding of her heart. He was still holding her injured hand and now lifted his free hand to dab at her cut lip with the end of a clean towel. "There's nothing for you to be sorry for," he said in a strange tone. "You haven't done anything." "I don't mean what happened at the mine," Winter contradicted with a wave toward the gully. "I mean...everything...last night...the things I said to you this morning...being here...in this house...without Ben...I'm sorry, I'm making a fool of myself again." She clamped her mouth closed but her chin continued to quiver. She was filled with shame to let him see her cry. She drew a long ragged breath and tried to smile. "I know what you were trying to do last night," she said in a stronger voice. "You thought you would scare me into giving up the idea of working for Rita. You thought if you came into the room and was awful to me that I'd give it up." Now it was Blaine who looked away. He looked uneasy, nervous. He let go of her hand and walked quickly back to the fireplace. "Only, I drank too much and...the things you said didn't scare me. Quite the opposite. I don't know what came over me..." Winter broke off at the embarrassed expression on Blaine's face and the way he avoided her eyes. "Mind telling me one thing?" she asked. "What?" Blaine grunted. "What did you do last night when I went to sleep?"


"I went to sleep too." "With me? I mean, in bed with me?" Winter persisted in spite of the way her face flamed. Blaine nodded uncomfortably as he kicked at the blazing log in the fireplace. "Blaine, why didn't you...I mean why didn't you..?" "Make love to you?" Blaine finished for her. Winter nodded and wet her lips. "Yes. I know what you said this morning and I'm sure you were right. I mean, it couldn't have been very exciting...what with me...the way I was and going to sleep..." "I said what I did this morning because I was mad. I didn't mean it," Blaine grunted. When Winter continued to stare at him, he shrugged and answered her question. "I didn't make love to you, Winter, because that wasn't what I went up there for. I wanted you to realize what you were doing to yourself. What it would be like to sleep with a man for money." When he'd fallen silent Winter's lips began to tremble again. She felt all mixed up and confused. Her emotions were churned into a frenzy that she didn't know how to deal with. "I see," she said miserably with downcast eyes. "It was all a plot then, a way to show me I was wrong. You were faking everything else." The accusation in her voice caught Blaine off guard. He looked into her enormous eyes, surprised at the conflict he saw. "Faking? No, Winter, I didn't fake anything." His eyes twinkled with the memory. "Some things a man just can't fake." Winter walked slowly toward him. She dropped the dishtowel onto the floor as she crossed the cozy room to halt in front of him. Blaine


stood still and watched her curiously, wondering what she was going to do. Then with a long breath of determination, Winter slid her arms around his neck and pressed her body tightly against him. She cut off Blaine's gasp of surprise with her lips, kissing him timidly at first, then hungrily. His mustache was both soft and scratchy against her face when he answered her kiss. His arms wrapped around her, drawing her tightly against his hardening body, kissing her fiercely. Winter melted into the curve of his body. Her hands moved across the cord of muscles in his shoulders down to caress the base of his throat. She began to loosen the buttons of the shirt, slipping one hand inside to move hungrily through the dark hair on his chest. She opened her mouth under his, ignoring the cut lip to allow his tongue entrance into the depths of her mouth. She shuddered, pressing closer to him, and heard herself moan softly. Blaine's hands moved over her back, cupping her hips and pulling her even tighter into his embrace. The silken flesh beneath the gingham dress grew warm under his fingers. Winter's lips answered his kisses eagerly, matching him kiss for kiss. He felt the heat between her thighs, felt her tremble in his arms. With supreme effort, he took her shoulders in both hands and held her away. The heat in her eyes made it difficult to get his breath, made his chest heave with the effort to restrain himself. "What the hell are you doing, Winter? Testing me?" he said through clinched teeth. His eyes burned into Winter's foggy brain as she clutched his arms. "I...I had to know if it was only the wine.." she whispered. She wanted to look away from the accusation in his face but couldn't. His gaze captured hers and wouldn't let go.


"What does this prove?" he demanded. "That you can make a fool of me?" Winter shook her chestnut mane vigorously, her eyes bright with denial. "It proves that I have feelings too, it proves I'm capable of...of desire...of wanting..." "Did you seriously doubt that?" She nodded and wet her lips nervously. Her breathing was slowing but she could still feel Blaine's heart pounding, feel the heat rising from his body. "I never felt anything with Ben. I never had these feelings before. I didn't know if it was just the wine last night or if I really had felt those things." "So you decide to put it to the test with me? Jesus Christ, Red, don't you realize how dangerous that is? Don't you think I've got feelings too, damn it!" "Of course you've got feelings," Winter contradicted. A tiny smile touched her lips after a glance at his crotch and the erection that strained the material. "I'm sorry if I upset you, but I knew after last night that you wouldn't do anything I didn't want. You killed two men not an hour ago because of me. If I can't trust you, who can I trust?" "Those are mighty impressive words about a man you don't know anything about," Blaine said sarcastically. "You're forgetting what I am, aren't you? You're forgetting how badly you hate Indians, aren't you? Well, I haven't forgotten, Winter, and I damned sure don't like being used to prove some stupid point that you should've known all along. "You're a beautiful woman, Winter," he added in a strained, hoarse


voice. "Jesus, if you don't know that by now...and if Ben Barrett couldn't make you feel the way a woman should, it was his loss. But I'm not the man to do it." "Why aren't you?" Winter asked breathlessly. "You don't know anything about me!" Blaine argued fiercely, his eyes blazing with frustration. "There are things about me, Winter. I've done things that a lady like you should never hear about. I'm a half-breed Cheyenne renegade. You said it this morning; I'm a savage! I've been a savage for over thirty years! This tin star doesn't change that! Nothing does! Nothing ever will!" He half-pushed Winter away and snatched up his gunbelt and hat on his way out into the pouring rain. Winter ran to the open door, watching in wide-eyed amazement as he walked away into the mist that hung heavily over the mountain. "Blaine!" she called after him, but if he heard he didn't answer. She waited for a few minutes, then slowly closed the door and leaned against it. The wood felt cool and damp beneath her forehead as her throat burned with unshed tears. A lady! He'd called her a lady! Instead of pleasing her, she felt angry and confused. Was that her problem, she asked herself miserably. Was that why her husband had treated her like a porcelain doll that could not be expected to enjoy such a earthy pleasure as making love? Was that why Ben had make love like a thief in the night and why Blaine ran into the downpour rather than stay in a sturdy, cozy cabin with her and take what she'd so shamelessly offered him? Oh, God, she thought miserably. Both small hands curled into fists that repeatedly hit the solid wooden door. If being a lady meant having to hide the feelings that turned her flesh into a simmering volcano at Blaine Dekker's touch, she'd rather be a whore.


CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Winter paced the cabin floor for over an hour listening to the steady pelting of the rain on the tin roof. She could remember many times being soothed by that sound. Times when Ben was alive and they were safe and cozy inside while an autumn thunderstorm rattled the windows. Warm times curled up before the fire with a cup of hot cocoa, arm in arm, sitting quietly watching the fire dance along the birch logs. But now she was more reminded of those cold nights in the orphanage when she was never quite warm enough or her stomach was never quite full enough. Once more she was filled with that cold, lonely hunger that had consumed her as a child. Only now it wasn't food that she craved. It was the fulfillment of inner cravings, of secret needs that were just beginning to make themselves known that gnawed relentlessly at her. When she finally heard Blaine's steps on the narrow porch, her heart leaped into her throat. She scrambled to her feet as he opened the door and came inside. Once again he was soaking wet and chilled to the bone, but the steely determination that set his lean face in granite lines and made his intense blue eyes dark told Winter instantly that he was still just as disturbed by the turn of events as she. He tossed his dripping hat onto the deer horns and walked toward the fire. His boots made soft squishing sounds on the hardwood floor as a trail of water followed him to the inviting warmth of the fireplace.


"Where were you? I was worried!" Winter demanded sharply. Blaine glanced at her, his dark brows rising at the harshness in her voice. Under his intense gaze, Winter's eyes wavered. Shame and humiliation washed through her pale features while she settled back onto the floor in front of the fire without looking at him. "I was out...checking on the horses." His answer was little more than a grunt. He stood before the fire with his hands stretched toward the warmth, legs slightly spread. The firelight reflecting off the ivory handled pistol butt sent a chill through Winter's slender frame at the sudden memory of how that same deadly gun had killed two men only hours before. "Why did you run away?" Winter asked through stiff lips. She was astonished to hear herself ask the question. How much humiliation could she bring upon herself in one day, she wondered in surprise. "You know the answer to that, Winter," Blaine said wearily. "You ran away from me," she replied quietly with a catch in her voice. "Because I humiliated myself again. Because you obviously don't feel the way I do." "That's not it and you damned well know it!" Blaine said harshly. He turned to face her, staring down at her intently even though Winter sensed the discomfort inside him. "Winter, you've been through too damned much in the last few weeks to know what you feel. Ben's death, losing the baby, and now this afternoon's...disaster with those goons. Jesus, it's enough to make anybody act a little goofy." Winter watched him, unable to tear her eyes away from his. "So you're afraid of taking advantage of my confused feelings, is that it?" she asked


in a remarkably calm voice. "That's part of it," Blaine answered. His eyes warmed, his voice became softer and Winter felt her heart race. He ran a hand through his hair as he shrugged uneasily. "Look, Winter, you said it yourself; you're grateful to me. I think you've got gratitude mixed up with something else and you're too damned vulnerable right now to know what you want." "Is that why you tried to scare me last night? To protect me from myself because I wasn't capable of making a rational decision?" The total honesty in her thick lashed eyes burned through Blaine's veil of defense. She looked lost and helpless, like a little girl. He wanted to hold her in his arms and kiss away the pain that was so obvious in her eyes. Instead, he drew a long breath as he shook his head. "No, that wasn't it. I told myself it was, even told you it was, but it was more than that. I told myself that it was because of Ben too, but that's only part of it." He looked directly into her eyes, saw the anticipation that lit her face and knew he was doomed. "The truth is that I couldn't stand the thought of you with another man." As soon as the words left his lips he wished he could take them back. He hadn't meant to say that, hadn't meant to reveal so much of his inner feelings. He remembered the old Indian woman's warning: don't let Winter get too close, then admitted to himself, that it was already too late for that. Winter's face colored with happiness. Her great hazel eyes warmed at the look of surprise that had flashed into his face. He hadn't meant to say so much, she knew instinctively, but the singing in her heart overrode any dissenting feelings. "Suppose I was absolutely certain that my feelings have nothing to do with gratitude or anything like that? Would you still run off into the rain?" she heard herself ask softly.


Blaine swallowed and nodded. "Yes, Winter, I'd have to." He raised a hand to prevent her protest while he managed a thin smile. "I don't expect you to understand all this. Hell, I don't understand it either. But, Winter, you're not like any woman I've ever known. You're honest and truthful and strong. You're a lady..." "Oh fiddlesticks!" Winter snapped impatiently. "I'm a woman! I'm no better or worse than any of the girls at Rita's. I've just been more fortunate. I've never been in a position where the only thing I had to sell was myself. And thanks to you, I still don't." She smiled and patted the blanket on the floor where she sat. Blaine hesitated so long she began to think he wasn't going to accept her invitation, but then he sighed and settled down beside her. Winter lifted one hand to brush back the long raven curls that had formed around his face and collar from the rain. Instantly she saw a guardedness spring up in his eyes as he pulled back. "You haven't heard a single thing I've said, have you?" he asked more sharply than he intended. "Winter, I'm no good for you. It's just that simple. You're too damned good for the likes of me and you know it as well as I do. And if we keep up this game, you're going to get hurt." "How can just being together hurt me?" Winter wondered. Her eyes searched his face, baffled at the way he avoided her eyes. "Because sooner or later you'll realize that I'm no good!" Blaine said in a raspy voice filled with emotion. "It'll be easier to deal with if all we've done is share a few kisses. If it goes any farther than that...well, I don't think you'll like yourself very much." "Why, I think you're afraid!" Winter said softly. "I think you're scared of getting close to me! And I didn't think you were afraid of anything!" Blaine climbed to his feet, pulling Winter up with him. Placing both


hands on her slender shoulders, he was amazed to find he was trembling. He took a deep breath and made himself look into her flushed, smiling face. "Damned right I'm scared of you, lady," he said in a husky voice. "You scare the hell outa me because when we're together like we are now, in this cabin with the rain coming down like a curtain that keeps the rest of the world away, it's too damned easy to let these feelings get out of hand. It's too easy to feel instead of think. And that's dangerous," he added with a rueful smile as he pulled her into his arms and kissed the top of her head. "We're worlds apart, Winter. You know that. That's why it's better not to start anything than to try later to stop it." Winter leaned back to look up into his face, surprised by the depth of emotion she saw in his eyes. "Do you want me, Blaine?" she asked softly, tracing the line of his lips with one finger. "What I want is not the issue," Blaine said gruffly. "I'm trying to think of what's best for you. You're not making it easy." His voice was more like a moan as he buried his face in her warm chestnut mane. Winter's arms slid around his shoulders and a smile curled her lips as she snuggled into the curve of his body. His long, muscular thighs made the blood pound in her ears, made her more daring than she would have ever dreamed. "Take me, Blaine," she whispered invitingly, letting her lips move softly over the warm satin of his throat. Blaine let out a heavy sigh as he held her out in front of him. His fingers marked her pale skin below the sleeves of the dress as he swallowed and shook his head. "Damn it, Winter! You're not listening to me! You'll have these feelings again, for a man who deserves you. But I'm not that man, Winter. You've got to stop this foolishness! Now, while


I'm still able to refuse you." He forced a tight smile as he guided her toward the doorway. "The rain's letting up. Time we were going." Winter moved along stiffly, humiliated tears burning her throat. He had rejected her again but while she was disappointed, she was also vaguely relieved. Her strength was gone, her ability to think rationally consumed by a slow-burning fever that made her knees weak and her heart race. Perhaps Blaine was right, she told herself firmly while he assisted her into the wagon. She had been through a great deal and her emotions were all mixed up. Perhaps this new-found desire was only an escape valve for all those pent-up feelings. Perhaps it would pass. She prayed it would. It was humiliating enough to discover such an explosive factor in herself. To suffer rejection by a man whom until a few hours ago she had thoroughly disliked was too humiliating to bear. She would never allow herself to be such a fool again. She took up the reins and looked at Blaine mounted on the pinto. His handsome face was tense and uneasy, she noticed. She wondered if this was the first time he had been forced to openly reject a woman? Her pale face flooded with shame as she hurriedly looked away. There was so much she didn't understand, so many feelings that were all mixed up inside her. Winter flicked the reins over the horses' back and followed him down the soggy trail toward town. She had blatantly offered herself to a man and he'd politely pushed her away. She didn't like rejection. Her head lifted with dignity and her eyes began to flash. She'd allowed her secret longings to make a fool of her twice with this man. She'd never allow herself to make the same mistake again.


CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Winter smiled at Marsh Gordon across the dining table in the Gold River Hotel as she daintily touched the linen napkin to her lips. The crystal chandelier above their table made her chestnut hair gleam with radiant highlights and gave her ivory skin a glow of vitality that outshone every other woman in the room. Her hair was swept up into an elegant coiffure that Rita swore was the latest fashion from Paris. The floor length peach colored silk dress fit her snugly, emphasizing both her slender waist and her full bosom. The garment had a double row of pearl buttons down the tailored bodice and a square neck-line that revealed the tops of her breasts without being considered vulgar. "This wine is delicious, Marsh," she said with a bright smile. Marsh Gordon beamed. His silver gray eyes were bright with silent approval. His well-built body was handsomely emphasized by the expensive pin striped suit complete with a white ruffled shirt and a tan waistcoat. A heavy braided gold chain gleamed in the soft light as it held his gold pocket watch safely inside the vest. Quite an ensemble for a man who lived on government wages, Winter thought with a speculative glance at his attire. She wondered how he managed to have such an expensive wardrobe and accessories on an Indian agent's pay. Her parents' missionary school had been supported by the government also but she could not remember her father having such elegant clothes.


He certainly was handsome though, she decided with a smile at Marsh over her wine glass. Too old to seriously interest her, but she was flattered by the attention he'd been heaping upon her for the past week. She had never been treated so royally, never been made to feel so special. She liked the feeling. "Nothing but the best for you, my dear," Marsh was saying as he refilled their wine glasses. "A woman of your exquisite beauty and grace deserves the best money can buy." "How can you afford all this?" Winter asked abruptly. Marsh's brows shot up in surprise, then his face slowly broke into an amused grin. "Do you always say exactly what's on your mind, Winter?" "I try to," she replied with a steady, direct gaze into his eyes. "I find it the easiest way to deal with people, don't you?" Marsh sipped at his wine and nodded. "Yes, I suppose so. Now, what exactly is it that you're referring to?" "This is the third time this week you've invited me to dinner. You've brought me presents each time and you dress like a man with all the money in the world. I'd like to know how you can afford such things on a government employee's salary." "I've made some investments," Marsh replied smoothly. "Some of them have been quite successful." "Investments like stealing from the Indians and selling the supplies to the miners for three times the money?" Winter inquired. Her steady gaze held his without a waver. Although her voice was soft, almost teasing, the question her eyes demanded an answer. "I see you've been listening to Marshal Dekker," Marsh said with a dry chuckle. His graying head moved in a slow negative motion. "I hate to


disappoint the good marshal, my dear, but he's wrong about all that. I've dealt fairly with the Indians. It's not my fault if supplies coming from Denver are slow in arriving and sometimes short." Winter studied his calm face silently as she sipped her wine. He looked perfectly sincere with his clear gray eyes fixed on hers, his face calm and relaxed. Blaine had no proof that Marsh was cheating the Indians, she reminded herself. All his efforts to prove that Marsh was selling the Indian's supplies had failed. There wasn't one shred of evidence to prove otherwise. He certainly looked like a man with nothing to hide. She smiled and her face brightened. "Well, it certainly wouldn't be the first time that Marshal Dekker was wrong, would it?" The sarcastic edge in her voice made Marsh's brows arch curiously, but he decided not to comment. Her obvious dislike for the half-breed lawman pleased him immensely. "No, it certainly wouldn't," he agreed with a smile. "Every day Dekker gets in deeper with the Cheyenne and less in favor with the people of this town. Some of them are starting to wonder just whose side he's on." Winter sipped her wine silently. She had heard the rumors around town, that Blaine had chosen sides with the Cheyenne by promising them supplies when they were killing off the miners one or two at a time. "His latest adventure, for example," Marsh was continuing. "Don't you find it interesting that the Cheyenne are protecting him? I certainly do." Winter knew he was referring to the warrior who'd killed one of the men who had attacked her at the mine. She got the feeling Marsh was hoping she'd say something against Blaine, perhaps even something that might could be used against him. Her features chilled, her eyes narrowed slightly even while she continued to smile. "Interesting, Marsh?" she repeated carefully. "Fortunate certainly. If


that warrior hadn't appeared I, most likely, would be dead now." Marsh's carefully groomed head nodded in agreement. He reached across the table to place his hand over hers in a comforting gesture. "You'll get no argument from me about that." He removed his hand with a pleasant smile. "I just find it fascinating that the Cheyenne are showing such concern for a half-breed who has supposedly turned his back on them. It's completely out of character for them, unless it's to their advantage somehow." "Meaning?" Marsh shrugged and sipped at his wine before answering. "Meaning that I believe Dekker's more deeply involved with the Indians than anyone knows. He may even be involved with these killings." "You can't be serious!" Winter interjected. She stared at him wide-eyed. She could feel the color creeping into her face, then took a deep breath and reminded herself that what people thought of Blaine Dekker was of no concern to her. "I'm just repeating some of the rumors I've heard during the past couple of days," Marsh said smoothly with a dry smile at her reaction. "A lot of people in this town are nervous enough having a breed for a marshal without him taking the Indians' side when it comes to these killings." He paused until the waiter served their food before speaking again. "My dear, we've spent enough time talking about that boorish man. I have something much more important to discuss with you tonight." Winter looked at him expectantly, placing her fork back beside her plate. The aroma of a perfectly seared steak wafted up to her nostrils and the baked potato beside it was dripping with melted butter. She hoped whatever Marsh wanted to discuss wouldn't take long because


she was starved. "By all means, please go right ahead, Marsh," she replied cautiously. Gordon folded his hands in his lap and put on a sympathetic face. "Winter, it's no secret that your determination to open your husband's mine has hit a considerable snag." He paused, as if waiting for Winter to agree, but when she remained silent, he smiled and proceeded cautiously. "What you're hoping to do is admirable, if not dangerous. I should think after your narrow escape the other day you would agree that working the mine by yourself is too dangerous to consider." Winter still did not speak. Instead, she studied him while she wondered what he was getting at. "Marsh, if you have something to say I wish you'd get on with it. Our dinner is getting cold," she said at last in a bored tone of voice. Marsh's face colored briefly. Her directness was still new to him, still caught him off guard and unprepared. "Of course, my dear," he murmured with a short nod. "What I'm trying to say, Winter, is that unless you get considerable financial help, opening the mine is impossible. I understand the bank turned down your loan application." Winter nodded as she sipped at her wine. Her face tightened with displeasure at the memory of her heated discussion with the bank manager a couple of days earlier. "Turned me down flat," she stated angrily. The color rose in her face, giving her ivory cheeks a rosy glow that accented her fragile beauty. "That...that...man refused to even discuss the possibility of a loan. He said I wasn't a good credit risk!" Marsh nodded sympathetically while toying with his salad fork. "I'm not surprised, Winter. After all, you're a woman. You have no experience mining silver. The assay report is not all that encouraging, and the amount of money you're going to need is staggering." Winter dropped her gaze and drew a heavy breath. "You're not telling


me anything I don't already know, Marsh," she said tensely, raising her eyes back to his face, wishing he'd say what was on his mind before their dinner was ruined. "What you need is an independent backer, Winter," Marsh was saying with an easy smile. "Someone with the money to back your venture and who doesn't mind a gamble." Winter's brows rose with curiosity. Her mind was instantly lost to her empty stomach. The pleasant, though somewhat sly smile that marked Marsh's handsome face made her wary, but her heart began to race anyway. "Do you know someone like that?" "As a matter of fact, yes," Marsh answered with a nod. "As I said, Winter, I've made a few good investments. As a result I'm in a financial position to offer my assistance to you in this matter." "You mean you want to loan me the money to reopen Ben's mine?" Winter gasped. Gone was her attempt to remain cool. Her eyes widened and grew bright with hope while she stared at Marsh across the table. He took a sip of wine, placed the goblet onto the table, then shook his head with a faint smile. "Not a loan, Winter. An investment." Winter's face fell as her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Maybe you'd better spell out exactly what you mean," she suggested coolly, taking a grip on her rising hopes. "Of course," Marsh agreed pleasantly. "What I'm proposing, Winter, is a business partnership; my money and your mine." "Ben's mine," Winter corrected automatically.


Marsh nodded as he pulled a thin brown notebook from his coat pocket and flipped it open. "I estimate you'll need at least ten or twelve thousand dollars to begin operations. Plus, there'll be payroll expenses and equipment. I'd say the first year's expenses could run well over twenty thousand dollars. That's a great deal of money, Winter. I expect to make it all back, hopefully with a minimal profit. Not all at once, of course, but over the course of a couple of years..." "Just a minute," Winter interjected. "What makes you think Ben's mine has enough silver to make an investment like this plausible? Suppose there isn't any rich vein? Suppose you lose all that money?" Marsh settled back in her chair and smiled as he shrugged. "There are no guarantees, Winter. That's why banks won't lend money on such a high risk But," he added confidently, "I've always been a gambler, Winter. Anything worth having is worth taking a chance on. Besides, how can there not be silver? You're totally convinced of it, aren't you? You're willing to risk everything on that chance. How can I be less certain?" "Oh there's silver all right," Winter replied cautiously. "But how much silver is quite another question. It's one thing to risk my own finances but it's quite another to let you risk so much money." "I'm willing to take that chance, Winter." Winter studied his solemn features across the table silently for a time. Finally she swallowed and wet her lips. "What kind of agreement did you have in mind?" Marsh smiled inwardly as he checked his notes in the brown notebook. Her hopeful face told him she was going to agree with his plan. She wanted to realize Ben Barrett's dream far too badly to turn down the only offer she was likely to get for backing.


He glanced back at her face with a smile. Her eyes said it all without her even knowing it. He supposed he should feel ashamed to take such unfair advantage of her, but the thought of all that silver quickly dismissed such noble thoughts from his mind. Business was business, he reminded himself firmly as he lifted his head from the notebook. "What I have in mind is a very simple agreement, Winter. I provide the capitol for the mine's operation which includes the labor force, payroll, and equipment for a period of six months. If at the end of that time we have not mined enough silver ore to make the venture at least promising, then you agree to repay my investment." "W-what?" Winter stammered, shocked. "It's not as frightening as it may sound, my dear," Marsh soothed while he took her cold, shaky hand between both of his. "Simply put, it means that if the mine doesn't prove successful in six months you agree to marry me." "I-I don't understand! Marry you? What do you mean?" Marsh smiled indulgently and squeezed her hand. "I admit this is not the typical business arrangement, Winter, but it might prove more pleasant than you imagine. I provide the cash and you provide the motivation." Winter jerked her hand free and glared at him. "Is this some kind of joke? Is this how you get some kind of sick satisfaction? Playing sick games?" She flung her napkin onto the table and started to rise. Marsh's hand gripped her wrist firmly, pulling her back into her seat. She stared at him furiously, her eyes blazing with indignation. "Sit down, Winter, and hear me out!" Marsh commanded softly.


Winter wet her lips with a glance at his fingers around her wrist. The pleasant smile was in place on his face and his silver eyes were friendly enough, but a chill ran through her slender body as she weakly sank back into the chair. "It's no joke, my dear. I'm quite serious," Marsh assured her as he let her hand slip from his grasp. "If you give it serious consideration, I think you'll realize just how pleasant such an arrangement might be, for both of us." He smiled when her brows arched contemptuously. "Face it, Winter, you like being treated like a queen. You like being wined and dined and given expensive presents. Not that there's anything wrong with that. In fact, every woman should have the opportunity for such luxury. You simply have that chance." "Just what the devil are you getting at?" Winter snapped furiously. "Money, Winter. Money, expensive clothes, jewelry and all the other things that money provides," Marsh explained calmly. "Are you suggesting that I sell my soul to you in exchange for the money to open Ben's mine?" she asked coldly. "Not your soul, my dear," Marsh contradicted smoothly. "The rest of you perhaps." He chucked softly at the outrage that froze her features. "It's time to be realistic, Winter. The kind of risk I'd be taking doesn't come cheap. I expect to be fully compensated." "I don't like your terms!" Winter snapped. "No? Think about it, my dear. I'm in no hurry for your answer. The mine will be there, won't it? Sitting there waiting. It makes no difference to me, Winter, whether you make your deceased husband's dream a reality or not. The choice is totally yours." He sipped his wine, studying her angry face. "Besides, Winter, there's always the chance that we'll hit a rich vein of


silver right away. Why, within six months I could have my investment back and you could be a very wealthy young woman, in which event the marriage clause won't apply anyway. "I guess what it comes down to is how much of a risk are you willing to take? What kind of gambler are you, Winter?" he added in a taunting voice. Winter's face hardened as she glared at him. After a silent pause, she lifted her wine goblet and raised it in a silent toast. "The kind of gambler who's not afraid to call your bluff, Marsh," she said coldly. "I accept your offer...and your terms...but don't get yourself a new suit for the wedding. There's silver in that mine. Within six months I'll dig enough ore out of that godforsaken hole to satisfy even you. You'll get your money back...with interest. You can count on it." Marsh smiled and clinked his glass against hers, then drank deeply from it. "Oh, I am counting on it, my dear. Twenty thousand dollars worth." Winter put her wine goblet down and tucked her napkin in her lap. Picking up her salad fork, she forced a pleasant smile as she stabbed a cherry tomato and lifted it to her lips. "Good. Now that business is taken care of, can we have dinner?"

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE


Rita smiled at Blaine's stiff back. He stood in front of her window overlooking main street with the drapes pulled back, staring morosely down in the late evening traffic. "Have they left the hotel yet?" she asked cheerily. 'Who?" Blaine grunted without looking around. Rita suppressed a giggle while she poured two glasses of brandy from a decanter inside the night table. "Marsh Gordon and Winter, of course. You know, this is the third time this week he's taken her to dinner. What do you think that means?" "How the hell should I know?" Blaine snapped. He flung the curtain back into place and turned toward her. "Maybe they're plotting how to wipe out the entire Indian population of Colorado!" "And maybe they're plotting something a bit more personal," Rita suggested dryly. She indicated a spot beside her on the bed as she handed Blaine a glass of the brandy. "She's quite taken with him, you know. It's amazing what a pleasant dinner and a bouquet of flowers can do for a woman's ego." Blaine did not reply and after a moment's silence she sipped her drink and went on. "Especially when her ego's taken a beating at the hands of another man recently." "Just what the hell are you getting at?" Blaine demanded coldly. Rita shrugged casually, but her jade eyes were bright with amusement at his surly attitude. "Only that when a woman is rejected by the man who she's really attracted to, she'll often turn to someone else for comfort. Could be that's what Winter's doing."


"And it could be that she's decided Gordon is cut from the same bolt of cloth that she is." "You don't mean that," Rita interjected mildly. "It's far more likely that Marsh Gordon is using his charm to soothe her feelings. I understand he's quite good at that." "And I'm not? Is that what you're getting at?" "Oh, you're good all right, Blaine...in bed." Rita smiled at the surprise that flashed into his face. She sipped at the warming brandy while she studied him in the soft lamp light. He was as restless as a caged tiger, she thought with a tiny smile. Had been for over a week, ever since he'd followed Winter to the mine and killed those goons who attacked her. He'd revealed nothing of the remainder of that rainy afternoon, but Rita guessed from Winter's shattered expression that something very personal and very humiliating had happened. It didn't take a genius to figure it out. "But you don't have Marsh's charm or his manners or his eloquence," she continued. "You're too busy pushing people away to let yourself get close or learn to care about somebody. And Marsh Gordon, well, that's the kind of thing he does best." "Gordon's a conniving son-of-a-bitch!" "Maybe so, but he knows what to say to a woman to make her feel good about herself. And he knows how to treat her to make her keep coming back for more," Rita pointed out thoughtfully. "You could take lessons from him in that respect, Blaine." "What the hell do I care if Winter is taken in by all that bull shit!" Blaine snapped angrily. He took a long pull from the brandy glass, glaring at


Rita over the rim. "Maybe if you hadn't pushed her away she wouldn't be with him right now. She might be with you, snuggled up all nice and warm in your big, strong arms. Don't tell me you don't like that idea." "It was for her own good," Blaine said gloomily. He drew a ragged breath and shrugged. "Why not let her decide what's good for her or what's not?" Rita suggested cautiously. "It's her life, isn't it? It should be her decision." "She's not capable of making a rational decision right now," Blaine grunted. "Too much has happened; she's been through too much. She's all mixed up." "Are you sure it isn't you who's all mixed up? Isn't it you who doesn't know what you want, not Winter? Or perhaps you know exactly what you want and that's what scares the shit out of you." Blaine snorted and drained the glass. Clunking it on the table, he drew Rita's plump body into his arms. "You don't have the slightest idea what you're talking about," he said while his lips moved over her throat. Rita shuddered and let him draw her down onto the bed. Her eyes closed when he slipped the filmy negligee off her shoulders and nuzzled hungrily at the hollow between her ample breasts. Her own desire rose up to match his, made her fingers work furiously at the buttons on his shirt. Moments later their heated breathing drove every other sound from the room. The hoops and yells of drunken delight coming from the street below were drowned out by the sighs of sensual pleasure as Rita arched beneath him, urging him on with soft words and moans of


delight. *** Winter ran for the stairs when the fight broke out. Waldo almost collided with her as she bounded up the staircase. The long, tight dress was an obstacle when she tried to take the stairs two at a time. She cursed beneath her breath, forcing herself to take shorter steps as she cleared the stairs and headed down the hall. Wendy, the buxom redheaded whore, was just leaving her room when Winter passed her. Winter caught the girl's arm and stopped her. "Wendy, is Marshal Dekker still here? I saw him come up the stairs with Rita a while ago." Wendy nodded but didn't have time to speak before Winter was off like a shot down the hallway toward Rita's room. The girl opened her mouth to call after Winter, then shrugged and headed for the parlor. Winter hurried along the hallway. Her face was drawn with concern, for the fight below was the ugliest one she'd seen yet in the parlor. With a half dozen men involved, she was afraid for Waldo. She reached Rita's door and pounded on it. She heard noises from inside, but couldn't make them out so she tried the door knob. It turned beneath her touch and she pushed it open and hurried inside. "Blaine. there's a fight I.." she called out. Then her lips froze. Her eyes widened with shock when her startled mind realized that she'd walked in on Rita and Blaine in the midst of a passionate encounter. The sight of Blaine's naked copper body, plunging savagely into Rita's eager flesh flooded her face with crimson and stopped her breath short. She stood in the doorway, her eyes frozen on their passionate coupling on the satin-covered bed. She could not tear her eyes away from them, could not make her startled mind react to her intrusion and disappear


before they saw her. The blood pounded in her ears but she wet her lips and began to turn when Blaine realized he'd heard her voice. Instantly, his body froze atop Rita. "Is there something you wanted, dear?" she heard Rita ask with an amused peek from beneath Blaine's shoulder. "There's...there's a fight...downstairs...Waldo...Waldo..needs help," she stammered breathlessly. Even knowing that Blaine's dark head had turned, even knowing that he was staring at her in the dim light, she could not tear her eyes away from his gleaming copper body. His skin was covered with a light film of sweat, his chest heaved with exertion, and the fleeting look of guilt that flashed through his face made her pulse race. She wondered absently why the room seemed too small and too warm and why she had broken out in a sweat herself. "Winter! What the hell...! Jesus Christ, don't you know how to knock?" Blaine accused. He slid off Rita's body, reaching automatically for his trousers on the floor beside the bed. "I did knock!" Winter said defensively. "You were too busy to hear me!" Blaine did not answer. Turning his back, he quickly got dressed. Winter's eyes followed every movement. She knew her face was crimson, but was still unable to look away from his sleek, powerful frame. Her throat felt tight. She could hardly catch her breath when he turned with his head down, buckling the heavy gunbelt into place. He was fully dressed again, his shirt tucked neatly into the black trousers and the Colt in place around his waist. When he brushed past her on his way out the door, Winter jumped as though she'd been shot.


"You depraved bastard!" she heard her voice whisper savagely as he passed her. Blaine paused, his gaze piercing through her startled brain, then caught her face in one powerful hand. Forcing her eyes to meet his own, he smiled, revealing a perfect set of teeth. "That's the Winter I know," he said cheerfully. "Take your hands off me, you filthy savage!" Winter whispered furiously. She wondered angrily how she could have ever felt such a strong physical attraction to him. Wondered why her knees felt weak at this very moment. She hated this instant reaction to his touch, hated her weakness and hated him for causing it. Something cold and dangerous flickered through Blaine's face while he released her chin. The smile had instantly vanished to be replaced with an icy contempt that chilled his eyes. "And don't you ever forget it, Winter," he said in a low, savage tone. Then the cool amusement was back, filling his features with sardonic pleasure and transforming his face into a veiled mask. He brushed past Winter's trembling form into the hallway. As he moved down the long hallway toward the stairs, Blaine cursed himself furiously. Once he had left Winter's sight, the coldness had vanished from his face. Now he was filled with anger and a startling amount of guilt. The shock on Winter's face had made him ashamed, he realized darkly as he strode down the stairs into the brawl in the parlor. The fleeting expression of pain that had filled her face left a bitter taste in his mouth. She was hurt to find him making love to Rita. Hurt! he scoffed scornfully. Better to be hurt a little now than to be crushed later on. Still, the thought that what Winter had seen was for her own good, did not ease the burning pain in his chest.


*** Winter attacked the great boulder in the entrance of the silver mine with a vengeance. With a pick and shovel, she labored with the huge rock for over an hour. Finally with a great feeling of satisfaction, she felt the rock move. Giggling like a school girl, Winter danced back to the buggy and looped a hemp rope over the protruding triangle at the crest of the rock. Then she attached the other end of the rope to the team's singletree after loosening them from the buggy. Standing behind the horses, she clucked to them and slapped the reins against their broad backs. The animals strained against the rope until lather built up around the harness. Then, when Winter was ready to admit defeat once more, the horses gave a last burst of energy and the boulder began to roll. Winter gave a hoop of delight as the team dragged the rock away from the entrance. A few feet away from the mine, she unhooked the horses from the rock and rummaged through her skirt pockets for a carrot for each animal. She rubbed their sleek muzzles and praised each one while she grinned widely. With the big rock gone, the remainder of the clearing would be small work, she thought happily. She was suddenly glad she had agreed to Marsh Gordon's plan. With his money the mine could be in full operation in just a few days. Already the equipment was on its way from Denver. In just a few days... Her mind froze at the soft whinny from her team. The hair on the back of her neck rose in warning, although she did not hear a sound. A sixth sense of danger screamed at her as she whirled. Standing around her in a semi-circle were a half dozen Cheyenne


warriors. Winter's mouth opened to scream but nothing came out. Her terrified mind had regressed eighteen years to that horrible time when she'd seen warriors like these murder her parents. She smelled blood across the years. That terrifying sense of helplessness that had filled her as she watched her mother and father savagely murdered came flooding back. She felt weak, nauseous. and fought the urge to vomit from fear. The leader of the band of warriors looked familiar, she noted dimly. Then she realized he was the same brave who had killed the third man who attacked her here. The tall Indian moved toward her slowly. He wore no war paint, made no menacing gestures, but Winter's heart thudded with terror. Yet, her legs were frozen, her body welded in place by her fear. The warrior was closer now, so close she could feel the heat from his half-naked body. The flinty gleam in his ebony eyes told her nothing. The solemn expression on his copper face revealed no intentions as he neared her. His hand reached out. Winter felt his iron fingers close around her arm. Then his face became hazy and distant as her head swam. She fainted without making a sound. The warrior scooped her up into his arms and carried her silently toward his pony. Setting her on the blaze-faced black's shoulders, he swung up onto the animal and gathered her limp body securely in his arms. Then with a grunt to one of his companions, he held Winter steady while the other warrior took out his long bladed knife and deftly sliced off a lock of her hair and a piece of her shirt sleeve. The warrior mounted his own pony and disappeared toward the steep


path leading to the top of the slope. Then with a satisfied glance at his companions, the tall warrior nudged his pony and the group melted into the trees. *** When Winter did not return from the mine by three o'clock Blaine decided to look for her. In spite of his repeated warnings, she insisted on going to the mine every morning. Even the incident with the three goons had not persuaded her to give up her compulsion to work at the mine every day. Blaine felt a gnawing uneasiness in the pit of his stomach as he emerged from the trees at the edge of the clearing where the cabin stood. There wasn't a sound coming from the mine in the gully below. He moved his pinto toward the edge of the slope. Below, he saw the team munching contentedly at a patch of grass near the edge of the gully. Every nerve ending was instantly alert. He instinctively knew something was wrong, for Winter was nowhere to be seen. His eyes caught the pattern of tracks in the sod near the cabin. Dismounting, he warily approached to examine them. Dropping to his heels, he stared at the tracks. Six, maybe seven unshod horses. No more than a couple of hours old. Indian ponies, he knew instantly. He leaped to his feet and whirled toward the house. Even before he stepped onto the porch he saw the fluttering at the cabin door. "Winter!" he called, knowing she would not answer. Dropping his hand to the butt of the Colt at his hip, he moved cautiously toward the door. A groan began deep inside him at the sight of Winter's hair and a piece of her shirt fluttering in the summer breeze. They were pinned to the door by a knife with distinctive Cheyenne markings.


Blaine stared at the lock of her chestnut hair, then gingerly reached to remove it from the door. He yanked the knife from the wood and threw it away into the grass beside the porch. He turned Winter's hair over in his fingers and groaned inwardly. The message was all too clear. Two Feathers had grown tired of waiting. The old Cheyenne chief had made his move.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Winter made an ugly face as she looked about the Indian teepee. The flap of the tent was open so she could see the outline of her two guards, one on either side of the opening. They had been there for two days now. Standing there like two stone statues, not moving, not speaking. She sank down onto the soft bearskin rug placed to one side of the tent and cushioned her chin in her hands. The trip to the Cheyenne village had taken two full days and one night. They had ridden steadily, taking time only to water and rest the horses before moving on. She had lost track of the turns they had taken, lost track of everything except her overwhelming terror until they had arrived in the village mid-morning two days earlier. She had been brought immediately to this tent and placed under guard. She had not been allowed outside since. Her food and water had been


brought to her by an silent Indian woman who left as soon as she put Winter's food down. A rustling at the tent's entrance brought her head up with a snap. Entering was the tall warrior who had taken her prisoner; the same one who had saved Blaine's life at the mine a week before. He walked across the tent and dropped to his heels beside her. With a glance at her untouched plate, he scowled at her. "White woman must eat," he said in perfect, albeit gruff English. "I'm not hungry," Winter replied haughtily. She returned his level stare for a moment, then looked away. "How long am I to be kept prisoner here?" "I am called Tall Grass," the Indian said, ignoring her question. "You are my prisoner until Blaine Dekker comes." "And then what happens?" Winter asked anxiously. She stared at the tall Indian, wondering why he had decided to explain why she'd been kidnapped. All those long hours on the trail, her hands tied behind her back, seated in front of him on his Indian pony, Tall Grass had remained as silent as a tomb. Now, he had come to explain what was happening. She felt a stir of hope for the first time in days. "I do not know," Tall Grass said solemnly. "That will depend on Blaine Dekker." "What if he doesn't come?" "He will come," Tall Grass assured her without blinking. "If he does not come, you will die. He knows this. He will come." Winter's face paled. She clenched her fingers tightly in the bearskin beneath her as she wet her lips. "If you intended to kill me you'd have done it by now. You won't harm me because if you do Blaine won't


help you. Two Feathers must know this." A twinkle appeared in the tall warrior's ebony eyes, but he did not allow his amusement to reach his lips. Instead he observed her solemnly, without emotion. "You are Blaine Dekker's woman. You will persuade him to help the Cheyenne." "And if I don't?" Winter demanded with more conviction in her voice than she really felt. "Then he will die as well." Winter's blood chilled as the warrior climbed to his feet and left the tent without another sound. She fought back a sob as she curled up on the bearskin rug. Her throat ached with unshed tears, but she bit her lip and choked them back. It would do no good to cry now, she reminded herself bitterly. The Cheyenne admired courage above all else. If she could show she was not afraid, her chances of survival would greatly improve. But the way her hands were shaking and her teeth chattering, she seriously doubted her ability to do it. She was afraid, greatly afraid, and the only man who could save her was determined not to involve himself with the Cheyenne. She wondered fearfully what difference her capture would make when Blaine was so fiercely determined to remain separate from his grandfather. *** During the next two days, one thing became abundantly clear: Blaine had lied about Rising Sun being dead. Winter's knowledge of the Cheyenne language enabled her to catch parts of conversations as people drifted by her tent on the way to gather firewood and water from the stream near-by.


Her old hatred was ever strong in her heart as she waited for Blaine to appear in the village. He had lied about Rising Sun and she was going to give him a piece of her mind just as soon as he got her out of this awful mess. There was excitement among the Cheyenne people while they waited for their reluctant new chief. Rising Sun's name came up often in conversation, but all Winter was able to figure out was that he was expected in camp in time for the ceremony that would make Blaine Dekker chief of the Cheyenne. Hatred made Winter's heart cold. Her lips became a crimson slash in her face as they curled with ferocity. Perhaps this kidnapping would prove her chance to avenge her parent's brutal deaths. When the time came that she could confront Rising Sun with his evil deeds, she would have found some way to kill him. It did not matter that such a deed would surely result in her own death. Death lost its sting for Winter during those days of captivity. Her only breathing thought now was to kill Rising Sun. It didn't matter that even Blaine's agreeing to become chief could not save her if her plan proved successful. She had not slept or eaten for two days when she heard the stir outside the tent on the third morning of her imprisonment in the Indian village. The whoops and hollers of the women and children brought her to the flap of the tent in a flash. In spite of the guards' warning, she stepped outside in time to see Blaine's pinto come to a halt before the tent designated the home of the chief. Tears of relief sprang to her eyes as he swung down from the saddle and entered the tent. Soon this bleak period of capture would be over and she could get on with her life. But first she had a score to settle with Rising Sun.


*** The smoke inside the tent burned Blaine's throat and made his eyes water when he stood at the head of the delegation of elders that awaited him. His eyes eventually cleared as he looked from one weathered face to the next. Flying Owl, Barking Dog, Crow's Feather, and a half dozen more solemn, unemotional faces stared at him, silently appraising him in those few moments. His eyes lingered on the angry, hostile face of his young cousin at the end of the council fire. Shadow Dancer was obviously not in agreement with his elders, Blaine thought dryly with a glance at the warrior's dark features. "You have come, nixa," Two Feathers said from the position of honor at the head of the row of elders. "Welcome, grandson." "I want to see the woman," Blaine said curtly, ignoring his grandfather's welcome. "The woman is well," Two Feathers said with a short nod toward the tent opening. The two warriors waiting there left immediately to follow his unspoken command and the old chief turned his attention back to Blaine's furious face. "You are angry, my grandson," he observed without emotion. "Your woman has been treated well. She will remain well if you agree with the wishes of the council." In the seconds before Blaine could speak, the two warriors hustled Winter into the tent. She gasped when she saw Blaine and would have gone to him, but the warriors restrained her. Blaine looked at her pale, trembling lips and groaned inwardly. While the fear in her eyes clutched at his insides, he knew he was doomed.


"Let the woman go and I'll do as you wish," he said to Two Feathers in a controlled voice. "The woman stays," Two Feathers contradicted solemnly. "She remains alive only as long as you do as the council wishes. It is the wish of the council that you take my place as chief of the Cheyenne upon my death. Until that time, you will stay with your people and lead them to peace with the whites." "And if I refuse?" "The woman will be taken into the prairie and given to the warriors and you will be forced to watch, my grandson. I do not think you would like seeing your woman raped by twenty warriors. I think you will agree to the council's wishes." Winter gasped and put one hand to her mouth in horror as her gaze flashed to Blaine's impassive face. How could he remain so calm, she wondered anxiously. No emotion passed through his eyes, but she saw the violent twitching of the muscles in his jaw just before he took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Then Two Feathers motioned to the warriors and they quickly hustled Winter back outside. When the flap had settled into place after her abrupt departure, he nodded. "It is settled." "He is not Cheyenne!" Shadow Dancer snapped as he rose to his feet. His eyes flashed with anger, his lean frame glistened in the smoky haze when he turned toward the row of stoic faces before him. "He has proven he cannot be trusted! He is not fit to become chief!" "He is the son of a Cheyenne princess," Two Feathers said sharply. "He is my grandson. No one is better qualified to be chief of the Cheyenne." "He has not proven himself worthy of being Cheyenne. He has not


taken the trial of manhood. No one can become chief unless he passes the test of the Sun Dance!" "It is so, my grandson," Two Feathers conceded with a direct gaze at Blaine. "You must pass the trial of the Sun Dance." "He cannot pass the test of manhood," Shadow Dancer sneered. "His blood is unclean. He is a traitor to the Cheyenne. He will fail." "You're awfully sure of that, Shadow Dancer," Blaine said coldly. Their eyes locked in the hazy silence with such hostility even the elders stirred uneasily. "I will pass the trial of the Sun Dance, if I must. I will become chief of the Cheyenne, if I must. And I will kill you, my cousin, if I must." "The white woman is deeply in your heart, nixa," Two Feathers observed with a twinkle in the depths of his ebony eyes. The wrinkles around his eyes crinkled with amusement at the heated exchange between Blaine and Shadow Dancer. "Only the capture of the woman would bring you back to your people. Only the danger of her death makes you willing to take your rightful place at the council." "Nothing has changed!" Shadow Dancer challenged. "It was a white woman who caused him to betray the Cheyenne before. He will betray them again...for a white woman." "You have my word, grandfather," Blaine said to Two Feathers without taking his eyes from Shadow Dancer's furious face. "I will become chief, if that is your wish, and I will remain chief but the woman must go free." "She will remain here," Two Feather's insisted stubbornly. "She will become your wife if you wish, but she must remain with the people. I wish to trust your word, my grandson, but you must prove yourself to


me and to the council." "As the council wishes," Blaine agreed bleakly. Already he felt the weight of responsibility setting upon his shoulders. One look at Shadow Dancer was enough to tell him that he would be forced to defend his right to be chief. One of them would die, he thought morosely. And the winner would not only be chief of the Cheyenne nation but probably Winter's husband as well. That left him little choice. "I will instruct the council tent readied for the Sun Dance," Two Feathers said with a spirit in his voice that had not been heard in years. "You must prepare yourself, my grandson." "I will, grandfather, but there's something I must do first," Blaine said, staring directly into the old man's wrinkled face. "The woman?" Two Feathers suggested dryly. Blaine nodded curtly as he turned toward the opening of the tent. "Yes, I can't avoid it any longer."

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Winter paced the tent for the ten thousandth time in an hour, clenching her fists. What was happening, she wondered anxiously. Her fate was being decided in the chief's tent a hundred yards away and she was not


allowed to have a say in it. It was infuriating! She could just imagine Blaine Dekker's smugness if he agreed to become chief to save her life. The man would be positively impossible. She had not known him for even a year and this made three times he had saved her life. It was dark now and growing cooler. She rubbed her arms absently as she listened to the camp settling down. There was much excitement outside, much hurrying about and shouting. She heard Rising Sun's name more than once. Excitement made her heart begin to pound. He was here! Rising Sun had arrived in the village for the ceremony. Soon she would see her hated enemy face to face. Soon she would avenge her parents deaths. After that...she was so blinded with hate, she could not think beyond that point. A stir at the tent flap spun her around. Standing just inside the closed flap was a tall Cheyenne warrior. She did not recognize him. He was a stranger, yet the lean powerful body seemed vaguely familiar. He was wearing a breechcloth and leather leggings, leaving his torso bare, gleaming in the firelight from the fire inside the tent. Her heart pounded with fear as he moved from the shadows into the light. Her eyes widened with shock and her mouth moved soundlessly when she saw him clearly "You! You!" she choked out. "It's you! My God, it's been you all the time!" "Yes, Little Flower," the warrior said hoarsely. "I am Rising Sun." Winter felt faint. Bile rose up in her throat while she stared at the man she'd despised so fiercely for the past eighteen years. The copper face that watched her was lean and impassive, the body powerful and heavily muscled. He was totally Cheyenne, except for his eyes.


Gone was the neatly trimmed mustache. Gone was the dark hair that covered his chest. But those phenomenal eyes belonged to only one man. "How..how could you?" she choked. Tears burned her throat and blurred her vision. "How could you lie to me like that?" "How could I tell you the truth?" Blaine asked in reply. His voice was soft, calm despite the heaviness in his chest. Winter's pain stabbed through his body like a two edged sword, but he kept his eyes locked on her pale, bewildered face. "I hoped it would never be necessary to tell you. God, I prayed it would never be necessary, but now it's unavoidable. I could have let you find out, but I wanted you to hear it from me." "I trusted you," Winter whimpered as tears began to stream down her cheeks. Pain like she'd never known whipped through her chest, cut off her breath and left her weak. "You lied to me, deceived me, deliberately kept me from finding out who you are. And I even wanted you to..." she halted to draw a long ragged breath. "Now you know," Blaine said simply. "Yes, now I know what a lying, deceitful pole cat you are," Winter hissed. "Wasn't it enough that you murdered my parents? Did you have to play your sick, twisted games with me as well?" "It wasn't like that, Winter. I never wanted to hurt you. I've done everything I could to keep from hurting you. I'd give anything if I could prevent hurting you now. but I can't. It's out of my hands now." Winter gave a cry of outrage as she lunged at him. She clawed at his face, stabbing at his eyes, screaming her hatred at the top of her lungs. Blaine caught her wrists, one in each hand, and held her securely until she tired and grew weak with despair. Finally, when her screams faded


into anguished whimpers, he gathered her into his arms and held her close. "I'm sorry, Red," he said softly into the tumbled chestnut mane. "Truly sorry." "I'm going to kill you!" she hissed between hiccups. She struggled to free herself from his grasp. When she realized that was impossible, she held herself rigid in his embrace. "I'm going to cut your heart out and feed it to the coyotes. I'm going to make you pay for what you did to my mother and father. I don't know how, but I'm going to make you sorry you were ever born." "You're too late, Red," he snorted. "I've spent most of my life being sorry I was born." He held her away from him, staring into her tear-streaked face. "I know you hate me; maybe you've earned the right to kill me but you'll have to get in line. In the meantime, you stay alive only as long as I keep my promise to the council. It's to your advantage, Winter, that I live a long, healthy life. If I die, you die. Think about that while I'm gone." "I'll see you in hell!" Winter threatened wildly as he let her go and stepped backward into the shadows. "Hell?" Blaine asked with a sardonic smile. "We're in the middle of hell, Winter, right now. And it's going to get worse before it gets better." "Where are you going?" Winter asked, then instantly bit her lip for voicing the thought. "To the ceremony lodge. The council is waiting. You can wait here and think up ways to torture me Maybe you'll even devise something the Cheyenne will appreciate."


Winter stared at him with a wild mixture of hatred and anxiety as he moved silently through the tent opening, then vanished into the darkness. Several minutes passed while she stared at the tent flap. Minutes in which she alternately cursed Blaine Dekker, then cursed herself for her foolishness. "I should have known," she whispered to herself in the dimness. The small fire in the center of the tent threw flickering shadows on the sides of the tent as she stood trance-like. "How could I have not known? So many unanswered questions, so many mysteries...I should have known." "It was not for you to know." Winter gasped at the unexpected voice. Whirling, she saw the old Indian woman standing just inside the opening of the tent. Her eyes narrowed with hatred, her hands clenched once more into fists as she stared at the old woman. "And you! You lied to me also! You said Rising Sun was gone!" Half Moon nodded solemnly as she stepped closer. Her ebony eyes studied Winter's white, bewildered face without emotion. "Rising Sun was dead to the Cheyenne for many years. I did not lie." She made a gesture toward the tent flap. "Come." Instantly fear replaced the anger in Winter's face. "Come where? Where are you taking me?" she asked in a hollow voice. Half Moon held open the tent flap and gestured impatiently once more. "Come, the ceremony begins soon." "Ceremony?" Winter repeated with wide eyes. "No thank you! I do not wish to see that...that horrible man become chief of his people!" "You must see!" Half Moon said calmly. "The council believes you are Rising Sun's woman. You must witness the Sun Dance and Rising Sun's


triumph over death." "Why must I see it?" Winter cried. The mere name of the ceremony sent a shudder through her in spite of her hatred for Rising Sun. "It's a horrible, primitive practice! It's inhuman!" Half Moon again nodded solemnly. "It may be as you say, but every Cheyenne warrior must pass the test of manhood. Rising Sun cannot become chief without it. Now come!" The command in the old woman's voice finally jolted Winter into movement. She wet her lips and passed beneath Half Moon's arm on the way from the tent. Outside, the cool night air raised goose bumps on her arms as they walked quickly through the village. Fog from the river hung heavily in the air, creating a cloud-like effect a few inches above the ground that made it appear that people moving through it were walking on air. Winter flinched when the old woman put one hand on her arm to guide her toward the ceremony lodge located in the center of the camp. The large lodge faced east and was surrounded by fog, giving it an eerie, unnatural effect that made Winter's hatred dissolve into anxiety. The chanting from inside the lodge greeted Winter's anxious ears long before Half Moon walked past the sentries outside and urged her to enter. Winter did not find it necessary to bend down to enter the lodge for it was so large the tent flap was higher than her head. Winter felt Half Moon pulling her down onto a buffalo robe near the entry. She stiffly settled down on the robe and looked around. She knew enough about the ceremony to know all the elders of the tribe were present. After her eyes adjusted to the smoky interior, she saw Two Feathers rise to his feet and signal to the chanters for silence. Against her will, Winter's eyes followed the old chief across the tent as he moved to take a position directly beneath the center lodge pole


facing the tall warrior who stood awaiting him. A gasp grew in Winter's throat as she stared at Blaine. Even knowing that he was, indeed, Rising Sun, her bewildered mind could not fully accept it. The tall warrior dressed only in a breechcloth in the center of the lodge bore no resemblance to the man she had come to know as Blaine Dekker. His lean face was impassive, the dark cobalt eyes directed at some unseen point over his grandfather's head as Two Feathers slowly moved around him in a circle chanting some ancient song in a hoarse, crackling voice. His muscular body gleamed in the firelight like polished copper. His long black hair was held back from his face by a red headband. Winter stared at him open-mouthed. The breechcloth around his waist was nothing more than a soft piece of leather worn in front and suspended by a cord around the waist. Winter's eyes came to rest on his copper thighs, then looked quickly away when the unexpected memory of those muscular thighs lying naked against her own bare flesh popped into her mind. No, she told herself sternly. That was Blaine; this was Rising Sun. The two were still two separate entities in her mind. Blaine Dekker was only half Indian; a white man trapped inside a copper skin. The man she was staring at now was totally Cheyenne. A savage who had killed her family and destroyed her life. While she watched with wide, hate-filled eyes, Two Feathers concluded his chant and came to a halt in front of Blaine. A chill ran through Winter's body when her eyes happened upon the two ropes hanging from the center pole of the lodge. They were breast high to Blaine, hanging just above his bare chest. They were fastened to the crotch of the tall center pole, dangling in the eerie firelight like two specters casting dancing shadows on the buffalo


skin walls. Two Feathers removed his knife from his own breechcloth and held it aloft. Then he smoothly cut two small holes in Blaine's chest just above the nipple of his left breast. Winter gasped at the spurt of blood that quickly reddened Blaine's chest. Two Feathers moved slightly to cut two identical holes in Blaine's right side, then he put away the knife. He reached behind him and took two long wooden skewers from Flying Owl seated with the elders. He pushed the first wooden rod through the two holes in Blaine's chest until both ends protruded from his flesh. Then he took the second skewer and secured it in the right side of Blaine's chest. Winter stared at Blaine's impassive face in shock. His expression had not changed one centimeter since the ceremony had begun. Even when Two Feathers forced the wooden rods through his flesh, he did not flinch or even appear to feel the foreign objects sliding into his body. Now Two Feathers was securing the ends of the rope to both ends of each wooden skewer. Blood flowed freely from the wounds now, running down Blaine's belly, soaking into the band of the breechcloth. A wail built up in Winter's throat when four warriors pulled back the end of the ropes to lift Blaine off his feet. His face paled when the full weight of his body rested only on the small patches of skin and flesh secured between the wooden skewers. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead and upper lip, but he remained silent. The chanting began again when Blaine was completely suspended from the lodge pole ropes. Two Feathers solemnly took his place once more among the elders and crossed his arms across his chest to wait. Winter stuck one hand in her mouth and lunged to her feet. Bitter tears burned her eyes as she stumbled from the tent into the foggy night air. She halted a short distance from the ceremony tent. She wanted to run


into the darkness to escape the horror of what was happening inside, but was unable to make herself move beyond the sound of the chanting. She knew the ceremony would last until dawn, at which time Blaine would be cut down and released from the inhuman torture. Very few warriors, not even the strongest, could last more than twenty minutes before fainting, but to faint was not considered dishonorable. Only to cry for mercy would cause a warrior to he dishonored and this, Winter knew Blaine would not do. She tried to remember the night her parents were murdered, to remember the reason for her hatred, but in spite of the chill that stole through her blood at the memory, she could not stop shaking. The chanting in the tent behind her droned on and on during the minutes she stood silently in the darkness. Winter sensed the presence of other Indians close by and glanced about anxiously. The village was large, and in the foggy darkness very foreboding. She wrapped her arms around herself and drew a long ragged breath. The lodges rose in spectral silence in a large semi-circle facing the river. There was at least four hundred lodges, Winter thought nervously as she glanced around. She had been here before, or at least a village much like this. She remembered coming to the Cheyenne village with her father to speak to Chief Two Feathers about allowing the children to attend their mission school, but she had been a curious child then. Now she was a terrified young woman trying to separate the past from the present. A sound behind her brought a startled gasp from her as she whirled. Half Moon's solemn gaze greeted her frightened eyes and caused her to give a brief sigh of relief. "Why did you run from the lodge?" the old woman asked solemnly.


"I-I couldn't stand anymore," Winter heard herself whisper. "What they're doing is barbaric. I don't understand why Blaine consented to such torture. He…he doesn't even want to be chief of the Cheyenne...he's done everything he could to avoid it..." "Blaine Dekker is gone. He is Rising Sun, chief of the Cheyenne," Half Moon replied quietly while her sharp black eyes appraised Winter's pale features. "He does not endure the torture of the Sun Dance because he wants to be chief, or because it is his destiny to lead his people." "Then why?" Winter asked while she returned the old woman's unwavering gaze. "You know the answer, Little Flower. It is because of you. Rising Sun is sacrificing himself because it is the only way to appease the council and save your life." "But he knows I despise him!" Winter whispered with wide eyes. "He knows I will not rest until he pays for what he did to my parents! I have vowed to kill him and he knows I will keep that vow!" Half Moon stared at her silently until Winter became uneasy and nervously shifted from one foot to the other. Finally the old woman spoke again, this time with cutting contempt in her voice. "You are a foolish young woman, Little Flower. Rising Sun did not kill your parents! He tried to warn them of the attack the Dog Soldiers had planned. That is why he came to your wigwam the night of their deaths. That is why he was punished and sent from his people in shame. He drew his weapon in anger against one of his own people to save your life, Little Flower. "Shadow Dancer would have killed you that night, but my son stopped him, at the risk of his own life. Had he not been the grandson of a great chief, he would have been put to death."


Winter stared at her open-mouthed. "I don't believe you!" she cried at last. "I saw him! I know what he did!" Instantly Half Moon's wrinkled hand clutched Winter's arm just above the wrist. "You must be quiet! You must not distract him! His mind is far above the pain, but if he hears you, he will not be able to ignore your presence. He must not fail! He must pass the trial of the Sun Dance and prove his loyalty to his people. If he fails, he will be dishonored. He must not fail!" Winter swallowed and looked toward the ceremony tent where the chanting was growing louder. "He murdered my family. I saw him! Nothing you can say will change that." "You are wrong, Little Flower," Half Moon said sadly as she released her grip on Winter's arm. "It was many years ago. It was a terrible thing and you were a small child. The mind plays strange tricks at times. I do not know what you remember, but I know my son did not kill your family. "Two Feathers did not want Rising Sun to go to your father's mission school," she continued with a motion for Winter to follow her a few steps further from the tent. "It was I who allowed him to go. I wanted him to know the world of his father, the world of books and the white man. Perhaps I was wrong. "He became fond of you. He spoke of you often. He wanted to show you his world as you had shown him yours." A slight smile touched her face. The fog swirled around her, giving her a spooky appearance that made Winter afraid until she smiled again, revealing a warmth in her great dark eyes. "He made you his sister," she added with a gesture toward Winter's wrist. "He became much too fond of you, but it was too late. He would not stay away from the school. He was Cheyenne, but his white blood was stronger. It caused him to betray his people."


Half Moon fell silent for a moment, then tilted her head to listen to the chanting. "He did not lie about Rising Sun. For him, Rising Sun did not exist after he was sent from the village in disgrace. He became white. He wanted only to put the Cheyenne part of him into the past but it could not be. "He is the grandson of a great chief. He is learned in the ways of the white man. He can speak to them of the Cheyenne and their needs, and they will listen. But he will not do this willingly. "He comes to his people only because of you, Little Flower. Because he fears for your life more than he fears for his own. It was so many years ago; it is the same now." Her dark eyes narrowed and her voice grew shaky. "I pray this weakness for you will not destroy him now as it destroyed him before." Winter's mouth felt dry, her lips stiff as she followed the old woman back into the ceremonial tent. She settled onto the buffalo robe and wet her lips while she forced her unwilling eyes to focus on the spectacle before her. Blaine's body was limp now, his dark head hanging back slackly. The ropes that suspended him from the lodge pole turned slowly in a revolving circle, allowing Winter a clear view of the blood that streaked his belly and dripped from his bare toes onto the dusty earth beneath him. Winter felt weak, nauseous. She wanted to kill him for what he'd done, yet her mind screamed silently for an end to the torture that he was enduring now. Half Moon said he was doing this for her, she reminded herself curiously. Because he had to pass the trial of manhood before he could become chief, and if he did not become chief, she would be killed. He had come to the village to accept this fate, knowing she would learn he was Rising Sun. Knowing her fierce hatred would surface again and destroy whatever tender feelings had started to grow


between them. She looked at the small patches of flesh and skin that suspended his weight off the ground, and bit her lip. The pain must be unendurable, yet he'd accepted this ceremony without thinking about himself. But did that prove Half Moon's statement? Did it prove he did not kill her parents as she'd always believed? No, it did not. However, it did raise serious doubts about her memory of that horrible night so long ago. Little Flower. He'd called her Little Flower when he came to the tent to admit his true identity. She had been seven years old when he'd first called her that. She remembered the warmth in his eyes when he'd led her about the school yard on his Indian pony and handed her a wilted bunch of wildflowers. How could she not remember those eyes? How could she have not noticed they were not black as were the eyes of the other Indian children but a deep intense blue that could turn from sparkling with laughter to icy coldness with the snap of his fingers? Could she have been mistaken all those years? Was it possible that he had come to warn her family of impending danger instead of coming to persuade her father to open the door, making it easy for the warriors waiting in the darkness? She swallowed hard as she looked once more at his limp body hanging helplessly from the lodge pole. He was drenched with sweat, his copper body gleaming in the flickering firelight. He had never looked helpless before, not even when he'd been beaten so badly Winter rubbed at her eyes and looked away from his suffering. She was confused and frightened. Her emotions were swirling so fiercely she was afraid she'd drown in them. She focused on Blaine once more and swallowed.


Whatever the truth was, only Blaine knew it and she had to hear it. Soon.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Sometime during the night Half Moon led Winter from the ceremonial lodge back to her own dwelling. Winter stumbled sleepily into the tent and dropped onto the buffalo robe near the fire. She squirmed into a comfortable position, placed her folded hands beneath her cheek and stared into the fire. Outside she heard her guards shuffling around, then silence. She yawned, drew another robe over her for warmth and closed her eyes. She believed sleep would never come, but exhaustion overcame her at last and she slipped into a deep, restless sleep. It was late morning when the sound of shuffling feet outside finally awoke her. She sat up and sleepily rubbed her eyes, wondering why she had been allowed to sleep so late. Then remembering the ceremony the night before, she knew that the entire village had slept late because the elders had been up all night keeping their macabre vigil in the medicine lodge. She climbed stiffly to her feet and peeked out the tent flap. To her surprise, she realized her two guards were gone. After a moments hesitation, she ventured outside into the cool morning air to take a longer look around.


The village was just beginning to awaken, she realized as she looked from one lodge to another. Cooking fires were just beginning to be lit. Scores of small copper bodies ran about gathering sticks for firewood. The children yelled and scampered about, playing their games with childish delight. Most of them were naked, except for the ones who were a bit older. Winter realized she was smiling, then quickly wiped it from her face. They were heathens, she reminded herself sharply. They only appeared to be like other children, but in reality were smaller versions of their barbaric parents. Dogs barked, horses whinnied from a picket line further toward the river, as the children's squeals of laughter combined to create the same effect as any large community coming to life. It was not all that different from life in Gold River, Winter observed cautiously. Looking toward the medicine lodge, she saw that smoke no longer drifted from the opening in the top. The Sun Dance was over. She did not question whether Rising Sun had passed the trial of manhood; she knew he had. This morning he was chief-elect of his people. Her head ached miserably and she rubbed at her temples. So many thoughts were boiling around in her mind, so many emotions swirling around inside her, so many conflicting feelings rushed through her thoughts that it made her feel ill. She longed for the serenity of those long ago days with Ben in the snug cabin above the gully, then wondered if she'd ever see it again. What would become of her now that Blaine had done as the council requested? Would she be released? Or would she continue to be held prisoner in this primitive environment? It did no good to dwell on such uncertainties, she told herself firmly. Whatever was to become of her would be made known in due time. The Cheyenne were a patient people. It might be some time before she was made aware of any decision concerning her, but Blaine had kept


his end of the bargain so there was no reason that she would not be set free soon. That thought gave her the first real sense of hope she'd had in days as she retreated into her lodge to assess her appearance. She had been wearing the same clothes since the day she was captured and they were in sad shape. The shirt was stained and torn, her skirt was in need of a good washing and repair and her hair felt as though it was filled with burrs. She could also use a bath, she thought after sniffing herself. As though someone had read her thoughts, the tent flap raised and Half Moon appeared carrying an armload of clean clothing. She did not speak, but laid the bundle down on Winter's sleeping mat and stood with her arms folded across her chest. Winter wet her lips, glancing from the bundle on the floor to the old woman's impassive face. "What is this?" she asked timidly. "Rising Sun sends gifts," Half Moon said finally. "He wishes to know if he may come later to speak with you." Winter's brows arched with surprise. "He asks if he may come? I didn't think a Cheyenne chief asked anyone's permission," she said scornfully. "My son knows of your bitterness. He will not come if you do not wish it." Winter swallowed and chewed her lip thoughtfully. It appeared that Blaine had taken her hysterical ramblings seriously but somehow she was not comforted by that knowledge. In view of Half Moon's story she now wondered if she had spoken too quickly and too harshly. She shrugged finally and nodded. "Tell him he may come." Then, seeing the disapproval that flickered in the old woman's ebony eyes, her brows raised again curiously. "You would rather he didn't speak to


me, wouldn't you?" she asked inquisitively. "Why, Half Moon?" The Indian woman's proud, erect figure seemed to straighten even more as she returned Winter's level gaze. There was no emotion in the weathered copper features, only a brief glitter in the depths of her dark eyes. "I warned my son that to allow himself to get close to you would only result in trouble. He did not listen. He listened to his heart, as he did when you were both children. "He did not wish you to learn he was Rising Sun. Yet, he could not stay away from you. And now, when he has followed the wishes of the council, he can choose any woman from the tribe, but he will not. I fear for him because it was his feelings for you once before that brought him shame and disgrace. He will soon be chief of all the Cheyenne. He must not allow his feelings for a woman to interfere with his duty. It is not only himself that he would bring shame upon now, but all his people. That must not happen." Winter heard her out, silently admiring the quiet logic of Half Moon's words. She had spoken without emotion, keeping her voice calm and level, but Winter sensed the anxiety that lay beneath that calm exterior. She wondered how the woman could remain so unemotional when the context of her words revealed how important this matter was to her. "You needn't worry, Half Moon," Winter said, unable to keep the sarcasm from her voice. "The last thing I want is for your son to let me interfere with his duty to his people." Amusement twinkled briefly in Half Moon's eyes. "It is not for you to decide what Rising Sun feels. Have you not learned that yet?" The mild rebuke in the Indian woman's voice sent a rush of color into Winter's pale cheeks. She quickly looked down to avoid the amusement in Half Moon's eyes. "I meant that I will not do anything


that will cause him to forget his responsibility," she said meekly with downcast eyes. "The only thing I want is to go home and the sooner, the better. I'm sure Blaine feels the same way about it. I'm sure he'll be just as glad to see the last of me as I will be to see the last of him." Half Moon did not comment, but sank to her heels beside the neatly folded bundle and opened it. Inside Winter saw a pair of new moccasins made of rawhide adorned with porcupine-quill embroidery done in a geometric design, a one piece tubular dress made of what appeared to be sacks of some sort sewn together and decorated with beading and fringe, and most welcome to Winter's eyes; a hairbrush. She quickly picked it up and turned it over in her hands, admiring the resourcefulness of the Cheyenne in spite of herself. The hairbrush was simply a porcupine's tail tightly sewn over a strong stick with the quills trimmed to a useful length. The long seam along the brush was decorated with bright beadwork. "This is beautiful," she said with an awe-filled look at the Indian woman. "Did you make this?" Half Moon nodded solemnly, carefully keeping her features blank although the girl's praise pleased her enormously. "And the other things as well?" Again Half Moon nodded, her eyes beginning to twinkle at Winter's obvious delight with her new clothing. She pointed to the delicate beadwork on the fawn colored dress. "Yes, all these things and much more." "You must belong to the Quillers' Society," Winter suggested with an appreciative glance at the handmade garments that had taken hours to make. "Yes," Half Moon said proudly.


Winter nodded absently while she admired the beautiful handiwork on the garments. She knew that membership in the Quillers' Society was an honor among Cheyenne women. The Society was part sewing circle, part sorority that met regularly to prepare ceremonial robes and decorate them with porcupine or bird quills. Any woman who was a member was regarded with great respect. "Rising Sun once gave me a pair of moccasins that he'd made himself," she mused thoughtfully. "They were made of the softest deerskin I'd ever seen, so soft and comfortable. They were decorated with quills like these. It must have taken him hours to make them." She glanced up at Half Moon's inscrutable features and gave an apologetic shrug. "I threw them away after...after. my parents were killed. I didn't want anything to remind me of him." She looked at Half Moon again, holding the woman's steady gaze. "Why didn't Blaine just tell me the truth in the beginning? Why didn't he tell me he was really Rising Sun?" "You must ask my son that question," was Half Moon's stoic reply. "It is not for me to say." Then she rose to her feet and moved toward the tent's opening. "He sleeps now but he will come before the sun sets. You will wear the things I have brought?" Winter nodded and fondled the hairbrush. "Yes, I will wear them. And...thank you, Half Moon," she hurriedly added with a faint blush. Half Moon did not reply but moved silently into the sunlight beyond the lodge. She walked quickly toward her own lodge with a smile teasing the corners of her lips. Little Flower would wear the clothing Rising Sun had sent. That would please her son greatly. Although he was not courting the white girl in the typical Cheyenne manner, she had no doubts the results would be the same. By the time Rising Sun made the beautiful white girl his wife, she would be eating from his hand without even realizing it. Perhaps there were certain advantages to this white


way of courting, she thought with a smile as she reached her lodge and bent down to enter it. She looked lovingly at Blaine sleeping on a buffalo robe and went to pull a covering robe closer around his bare shoulders. Dressed in Cheyenne clothes, with his body shaved, his long hair flowing loose and tied back with a beaded headband, he looked as Cheyenne as any man in camp, she observed quietly. Still, his thoughts were more white than Cheyenne, especially where the white woman was concerned. The Cheyenne method of courting did not permit a man to directly approach the woman of his choice, but rather all contact was made between his relatives and hers. A man never spoke of love to the young woman he desired. A courtship might take years to result in marriage while the young warrior waited along the path to a girl's lodge in hopes of exchanging small talk. If the girl was in accordance, she might pause to speak to him of the weather or some ceremony, but never of personal things. Indeed, after adolescence boys and girls did not associate with one another at all so direct contact was impossible under Cheyenne custom. So the white way of a man speaking directly to the woman he desired was strange to Half Moon and a bit uncomfortable. She was not sure she approved of such methods, but Blaine had assured her that he would conform to Cheyenne custom in other areas of the relationship. Still, Half Moon would have preferred that he choose a Cheyenne girl. Indian girls were raised to become good wives and mothers and were steeped in Cheyenne tradition. Little Flower was very beautiful and they would have beautiful children together, but she doubted the white woman's ability to make him a good wife. She was too high tempered and strong willed. She would never accept her place as a helpmate, not even for a husband who was chief of the Cheyenne nation. But most of all, Half Moon worried about Blaine's vulnerability to the white woman's charm. She had led him to betray his Cheyenne blood


once. It was too likely she could do it again and this time there was much more at stake. But he was her son, she reminded herself with a confident nod toward his sleeping form. He was back with his people where he belonged. If it took the white woman to keep him here, it was well worth the risk. She carefully tucked the robe around him and sat back on her heels to watch him sleep. *** Winter dressed in the new clothing and sat down to brush the snarls from her long hair. She wished greatly for a bath and some perfumed soap, but was appreciative of the basin of water that had been provided by her guards before they secretly slipped away. The handmade garment fit remarkably well, except for being a bit loose. The dress reached below the knees, so soft it was hard to believe it was made from deerskin. It had short sleeves that hung down from the shoulders and were decorated with fringe at both the sleeves and around the bottom of the skirt. The moccasins fit her small feet perfectly. Winter slipped them on and then stuck her feet out one at a time to admire the workmanship. Then she attacked the tangles in her hair with the quill brush and lost track of time while she concentrated on returning the chestnut mane to its radiant luster. When she finished, her hair hung in long soft curls around her face and shoulders, gleaming with vitality. She had not realized the time until the gnawing in her stomach reminded her that she had not eaten. Her brows drew together in anxiety when she realized that no one had brought her food today as they'd done each day since her imprisonment. Did Blaine intend to starve her to get even for her acid hostility? She paced the lodge's narrow confines for some time, tapping her chin


with a forefinger, wondering what was going to become of her. Blaine asked to speak with her; did that mean some decision had been reached about her? She was sure it did. Now that he was chief-elect of the tribe what possible use would the Indians have for her now? Her thoughts turned longingly to the future and her bargain with Marsh Gordon. Irritation wrinkled her brow with the knowledge that this imprisonment had already cost her at least a week of the six month limit Gordon had put on his investment. She paced the tent again restlessly, grimacing with annoyance. Time was of the essence now. Each moment she was held here was a moment lost in her search for Ben's silver. Doubts about her decision to accept Marsh's offer again popped into her mind. Perhaps she'd acted too hastily, but it was too late now because she'd given her word. There was a slight shuffling outside the tent that stopped her in her tracks and spun her toward the opening. "Winter?" she heard Blaine's husky voice ask from outside. "May I enter?" Winter paused and ran her tongue over her dry lips. It was several seconds before she found her voice and answered him. "Yes, you may enter." She blinked rapidly when he walked into the lodge and stood before her. She automatically backed up a step and wet her lips again, unaware of how her eyes had widened with momentary fear. The tall warrior who stood before her silently watching her filled her with apprehension despite the calmness in his handsome face. She made a helpless gesture with both hands as she moved back another step. The lodge suddenly seemed much smaller than before, more confining


when Blaine glanced around before letting his gaze settle onto her face once more. "The clothes fit, I see," he said after a lengthy pause. Winter nodded as she stared at him curiously. There was a new pride in his manner, a new dignity in his stance that she knew immediately was a result of passing the torture of the Sun Dance with such obvious triumph. She looked at his bare chest and the ugly scars in each breast, realizing that the wounds were already healing. The Cheyenne medicine men had obviously treated the wounds with some secret herbs that white men knew nothing about. Except for a tiredness around the eyes, Blaine looked exceptionally well in view of what he'd gone through in the past twelve hours, but that thought only made Winter more uncomfortable. In addition to the new dignity, there was also a new watchfulness in his eyes that disturbed her. He stood perfectly still, watching her thoughtfully, but there was no readable emotion in his face. Winter grew more uneasy in the silence that passed while she tried to think of something to say. "Y-yes," she stammered at last. "It was kind of Half Moon to bring them," she added in reference to his comment about her dress. "She also said you wished to speak to me?" Blaine nodded while he observed the obvious discomfort in the girl's pale features. His eyes narrowed slightly and a muscle twitched in his jaw to realize that Winter was afraid of him. It was a feeling he despised, but he understood how she could feel as she did. "Yes, Winter, but not in here. Let's take a walk where it's not so stuffy," he suggested while lifting the tent flap and holding it up for her. Winter hesitated for a moment, then wet her lips and walked beneath


his arm into the afternoon sunshine. They walked silently side by side through the village for several minutes before he cleared his throat and looked at her. "Winter, I'm sorry you got dragged into this," he said quietly, looking ahead again. "I've got no one to blame but myself. I had no idea my grandfather was so determined. Scheming old bastard!" Winter looked up at him with surprise at the bitterness in his voice. The man beside her was a tall, handsome Indian warrior, but she suddenly realized that the man inside that copper body was as white as she. Had he always been? "There's no need to brow-beat yourself about it, Blaine... . Rising Sun..." she said, then blushed with embarrassment. "I-I don't know what to call you anymore. I thought I was beginning to know Blaine Dekker, to trust him. But I don't know Rising Sun and I'm not sure I want to." Blaine nodded in understanding while he returned her unsteady gaze evenly. "I understand your confusion, Winter, probably better than you realize." He gave a soft, bitter chuckle and looked around at the lodges they were passing. "I've spent the last eighteen years of my life trying to put all this behind me, trying to be a white man in a white man's world and now...I'm right back where I started." Winter stared up at his tight, angry face curiously. She tried to read his thoughts to get an idea of his feelings, but his eyes were veiled, his face now blank. "Perhaps it's I who should apologize to you," she said after a moment. "If I had listened to you I wouldn't have gone to the mine alone and I wouldn't have been captured and you wouldn't have to be here." "That's awfully generous, Winter, considering how badly you hate me."


Winter looked quickly away from the sarcasm that made his eyes gleam in the fading sunlight. "Half Moon told me a very interesting story," she said without looking at him. "She told me that you had nothing at all to do with my parent's murders, that you actually came to warn them that they were in danger." She paused, waiting for him to comment, but he remained silent. He looked directly ahead, apparently not noticing the appreciative stares of several young maidens passing on their way from gathering firewood. "She said you actually saved my life when Shadow Dancer wanted to kill me. She said that's why you were so severely punished and banished from the village." Irritation puckered her brows when he still did not speak. "Well, Blaine, is that what happened'?" "That's not exactly the way you remember it, is it, Winter?" Winter's radiant chestnut head swung in a short negative motion. "No, it isn't. But Half Moon also pointed out that I was a very small child and I was terrified. I suppose it's possible that it got all jumbled up in my head." "Why have you suddenly decided to give me the benefit of the doubt?" Blaine asked coolly as he guided her from the worn trail leading to the river. Winter blinked in surprise. The cool arrogance in his face was not what she expected. "I thought you'd be more willing to exonerate yourself," she said as her temper flared. "I've done nothing to exonerate myself from," Blaine replied calmly as he dropped to his heels beside the sparkling water. He looked up at Winter's vexed expression, then picked up a pebble to toss into the stream. "I made a decision and I've had to live with the consequences."


"Have you ever been sorry?" Winter settled down on the grassy riverbank beside him, toying with a long blade of grass while awaiting his answer. She felt his gaze touch her, felt that familiar warmth come into his voice. "No, Winter, I've never been sorry. How could I be sorry for trying to keep my brave young cousin from killing you? He was quite the warrior, if killing a helpless eight year old girl makes a boy a warrior." The sarcasm in his voice brought Winter's eyes back to his face with a snap. "I should have killed him then. God knows I'll have to now." "Why did you do it, Blaine? Try to warn my parents of the attack?" "They were good to me," was his short answer. His broad copper shoulders moved in a slight shrug as he tossed a pebble into the ripping water. "They showed me that there was honor in more things than learning to kill your fellow man. They taught me that showing you care about someone is not weakness and that there's more honor in following your conscience than in scalping people. Most of all, they showed me that my white blood wasn't something to be ashamed of, but that I should be proud of what I was, flaws and all." Tears misted Winter's eyes, but she glanced away before Blaine could see them. His reflections about her parents had been very insightful, just like Winter remembered them. It brought back old memories that both pleased her and made her lonely for them all over again. "It must have been very difficult for you, to choose between warning my family and doing what your grandfather wanted," she said at last, still toying with the long grass stem. "It wasn't as difficult as you might think," Blaine said dryly with a


glance at her averted face. "Actually it was a very simple decision. I had to choose between following my grandfather's wishes and killing people who had only done good for me or doing what I knew in my heart was right and defying him." His eyes warmed as he continued to watch her. Her face was still pale, but the sunlight gave her a warmth and beauty that outshone any woman he'd ever known. "Besides, you were my friend, remember? We became blood brothers. I couldn't let anything happen to you." The odd tremor in his voice made Winter's eyes flash back to his face and regard him curiously. "Yes, I do remember. I remember many things, but I don't remember you having blue eyes. How could I not remember that?" Blaine shrugged and tossed another pebble into the water, then watched the ripples fan out over the surface. "I don't know, Winter. Who can explain how our minds retain certain things and discard others?" "Why didn't you tell me?" Winter asked in a soft, trembling voice that made his brows raise with surprise. "Why didn't you just be honest with me in the beginning, when I first met you, and tell me the truth?" "I couldn't," Blaine said gruffly. He got to his feet with the easy grace of a gazelle and walked away to stand facing the river. "You were too full of hate, too consumed with revenge. You'd never have believed me then. I'm still not sure why you believe me now." "I've come to know you since then." Winter's voice was soft, yet strangely urgent. She remained sitting on the grass, watching him, wondering why he seemed so deliberately distant. The sunlight caught the hideous scars that marred his back, making her shudder. She climbed to her feet and approached him cautiously, putting out a tentative hand to touch him, then drawing back at the last second.


"I thought no one else could have ever suffered as I did," she said thoughtfully while she stared at his profile. "I realized only last night, during that hideous ceremony, that you have suffered just as much, lost just as much. I've been very selfish. I've wasted so many years hating the wrong man." Blaine did not speak. He stood with his back toward her staring into the sparkling water, his face intense with secret thoughts. Winter waited for a long moment, but when he remained silent, she wet her lips and voiced the question that had been on her mind for hours. "Ben...did Ben know? That you were Rising Sun?" Blaine's long hair shimmered in the sunlight when he shook his head. "No, Ben never knew anything about that part of my life." He turned at last to look into Winter's curious face, smiling for the first time in days. "Winter, Ben was the best friend I've had in my whole life. I'd have done anything for him..." "I know that." "When he died, I made myself a promise that I'd never let anything harm you again. I haven't done so good at keeping it." His lips curled in a wry smile at the protest that sprang to her lips as he reached to place one finger across her lips before she could speak. "But, this situation has at least provided me with the means to find Ben's killer. Yes, Winter, Ben was murdered; I'm convinced of it. The explosion was no accident but until now I haven't been able to prove it. But now," he added, smiling. "I have the best possible group of deputies in the whole world to help me find that proof and see Ben's killer brought to justice. So I guess being chief when my grandfather dies won't be all bad."


The rueful smile on his face did not cheer Winter's thoughts. "You mean the warriors? You're going to use them as deputies?" Blaine nodded as he took her arm to lead her back toward the camp. "That's right. At last I've got the manpower to do the job right." "What about me?" Winter had to ask. "What happens to me now? Can I go home?" The veiled expression that closed Blaine's face from emotion made her heart pound with anxiety. He took such a long time to answer that her mouth went dry and her fingers began to clench in the deerskin skirt. "No, Winter, not yet..." "Why not?" she cried. "What possible use can I be to Two Feather's now? I've baited his damnable trap and led you into it! What more does he want?" "He doesn't trust me, Winter. Not yet. I still must prove my loyalty to the people. Until he's convinced that I'll keep my word, he refuses to let you go." His statement was crisp, business-like, but his gaze seemed almost nervous when she glared at him. The color rose quickly in Winter's cheeks as her eyes narrowed contemptuously. "I have to get back! I've only got six months to find the silver! I can't afford to lose anymore time!" "Six months? What are you talking about?" Blaine demanded. Winter quickly explained about her agreement with Marsh Gordon. While she talked, Blaine's eyes became colder and more angry with each statement until she was stammering like a schoolgirl when she'd finished.


"Marry him? Like hell you will!" he shouted furiously. He halted in the path back to the village and grabbed her shoulders, shaking her until her head felt like it would snap off her neck. "I-I-I don't understand," Winter managed to blurt out when he finally regained control of himself and let her go. "Why are you so upset? It's not like I mean anything to you. You've done nothing but push me away every time I wanted to get closer to you! It's hardly any of your business now if I choose to marry Marsh Gordon!" Her voice rose steadily during her retort until she was shouting by the time she'd finished. His face had paled beneath the copper exterior and his eyes were pools of blue ice. His body had tensed, every muscle and nerve was on guard and Winter wondered briefly if he was going to strike her. "I kept pushing you away because I knew you'd hate yourself when you found out I was Rising Sun," he grated through clinched teeth. "I didn't want you to have anymore reason to hate me than you did already. How the hell was I supposed to know that my grandfather was going to pull some crazy stunt like this?" "That's not the point!" Winter screeched furiously. "You lied to me! You could have told me the truth, given me a chance to decide for myself, but you didn't! You lied and you deceived me! You--you pushed me away like I was...some..some cheap whore that wasn't good enough for you! Do you have any idea how that made me feel?" "How would you have felt if I'd made love to you and then you found out who I was? I was trying to do what was best for you, goddamnit!" "I'm not a child, Blaine Dekker...or...or Rising Sun...or whoever the hell you are! I'm perfectly capable of making a rational decision for myself! If you'd had the guts to be honest with me in the beginning, you'd know that! And don't tell me what's best for me! I'll be the judge of what's best for me!" she shouted, shaking her finger in his face. "And


I'll marry whomever I please! Don't you forget it!" They stood glaring at each other for a moment, both of them with sparkling, furious eyes and heaving chests. Then Blaine yanked her into his arms and kissed her. His lips ground into hers, taking the breath from her next furious outburst and turning it into a whimper of confused delight. His arms wound around her, molding her into the curve of his lean, muscular body. Winter felt light-headed, dizzy, from the explosion of emotion that whipped through her. Her arms slipped around his neck, her mouth answered his kisses hungrily, eagerly while she pressed closer to him, seeking the sensual pleasure of his arousal against her thighs. His lips left her mouth to travel down the velvet hollow of her throat, then back to her tender earlobes. "You'll never marry Marsh Gordon, do you understand?" he whispered savagely against her ear. "I'll kill him first! With my bare hands if necessary!" "W-why?" Winter heard herself gasp through the foggy haze of delight his lips had created. "For the same reason I'd kill any man that tried to use you, my little Cheyenne flower," Blaine said in that same seductive, savage tone. "Marsh Gordon is a thief and a killer and he intends to get Ben's mine anyway he can. But he won't get it through you, Little Flower. I'll see him in hell first." Winter stared at him, flushed and bright-eyed with desire. The heat in his eyes thrilled her, but also sent a chill of alarm through her slender frame as she stared up into his guarded face. "W-why?" she stammered again foolishly. "Because he killed Ben," Blaine spat angrily. "I've always known it, but now I'll find a way to prove it. Do you want to marry a man who


cold-bloodedly killed your husband?" Winter's rumbled chestnut mane swung in the afternoon sun as she shook her head vehemently. "N-no, of course not!" she mumbled. "What do you want, Winter?" he asked hoarsely. Winter stared at him without blinking, reading the challenge in his words clearly, but unable to know how to respond. He'd rejected her so many times she was afraid this was another chance for her to be hurt, knowing her heart couldn't stand another rejection. "I think you already know what I want," she amazed herself by saying brazenly. Blaine pulled her closer and kissed her again hungrily, then eased back from her embrace at the sound of giggling young maidens coming up the path toward them. His eyes gleamed with desire, his sensual lips curled into a speculative smile as he placed his arm around her shoulders and led her past the group of intruders, toward the village. "Better be careful what you wish for, Winter," he said in a half-teasing, half-serious manner. "Who knows when you'll get it?"

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Winter scowled at the bowl of stew Half Moon handed to her and shook her head. Half Moon pushed the bowl at her again.


"Eat it, Winter, it won't hurt you. I promise," Blaine said pleasantly from across the fire. Winter looked about nervously at the celebrating Cheyenne warriors as she wet her lips. The dancing had been going on for several hours. The steady thumping of the drums and the joyous cries from the males as they danced around the huge bonfire in the center of the village had given her a fierce headache. "No, thank you," she replied stiffly. "I'm not hungry." After another uneasy glance at the dancers, she looked to Blaine to ask, "How much longer is this going to go on?" "Not much longer," he answered nonchalantly, directing his attention to his own dish of food. "When am I to be allowed to return to my lodge?" she persisted anxiously. "Soon," Blaine told her with a brief glance at her pale features. Her hatred for the Cheyenne was clearly apparent in the coldness of her eyes and the contemptuous snarl that curled her lips. Still, her fear over-rode all other emotions while he stared at her in the glow of the fire. "Have something to eat, Winter. Try to relax." "Relax!" she said incredulously. "You expect me to relax with all these heathens dancing around chanting war songs?" "It is a feast to celebrate Rising Sun's triumph over the Sun Dance," Half Moon explained patiently. "The warriors are singing of their bravery in past battles, Little Flower, not of battles they are planning. There is no need for your fear." Winter took the offered bowl of food. "What is this?" she asked, poking at the stew with a spoon fashioned from a buffalo horn.


"Rabbit and pomme blanche," was Half Moon's reply. She hid a half-smile when Winter reluctantly tasted the stew. "Pomme blanche is called the Indian turnip by your people," she explained in that same solemn voice. "It is dug in the spring and dried in the sun for use later. I can show you how to prepare it, if you wish." "Thank you, but I won't be here long enough for that," Winter said with a cool, meaningful look at Blaine. Half Moon and Blaine exchanged glances over Winter's head in a manner that made Winter look quickly at each one, then back to Blaine. "What was that look for?" she demanded angrily. "Is there something that you're not telling me, Blaine? Well, is there?" "Yes," he said calmly. "But this isn't the time to discuss it." "Then when is, pray tell?" Winter asked coldly. "This is my life we're talking about. Have you forgotten that? How dare you make decisions about me without giving me the courtesy of discussing it with me first!" "You didn't bother to discuss going to the mine alone when you got yourself captured and brought here," Blaine reminded her in a calm, level voice that infuriated her. "Oh that's right! Throw that in my face!" Winter cried while she leaped to her feet. "Sit down, Winter! Now!" Blaine commanded in a cold, authoritative tone that caught Winter off guard and left her open-mouthed with surprise. "How dare you order me around!" Winter cried furiously. Before she could blink, Blaine reached up, grabbed her wrist, and yanked her back down onto the blanket beside him. He held onto her as he pulled her toward him, staring into her wide, frightened eyes without blinking. When he spoke, his voice was so calm and cold it


chilled Winter's blood. "Sit still and shut up!" he growled coldly. "For once in your life listen to me and do what I tell you! Don't you realize that both our lives depend on how you behave?" "W-what do you mean?" Winter stammered fearfully. The coldness in his voice scared her silly, but even while she stared into his face, the ice in his eyes melted. He released her wrist with a sigh. "Winter, I'm on trial here. Two Feathers wants me to take his place and he wants me to keep the Cheyenne at peace, but he doesn't trust me as far as he could throw a buffalo. Neither does the council...and they trust you even less. "What I'm trying to tell you is, that they're watching every move both of us makes. If I can't control you, how can I expect the men to respect me? Or follow me? I'm sorry if I hurt you just now but you've got to do what I say without an argument. If you openly defy me, you shame me before the others. I can't allow that." He paused to run one hand through his long black hair. "If Two Feathers and the council decide that I'm not capable of controlling you, they may well decide to punish you...to keep me in line. I don't think either of us relishes that idea." "So you mean that I've got to agree with every syllable that comes out of your mouth?" Winter challenged furiously. She rubbed at the red marks his fingers had left on her wrist as she glared at him. The fear that had filled her at the onset of his hostile statement had quickly dissolved into icy sarcasm that turned her eyes cold and curled her lips into thin lines of contempt. "You seriously think that I'm going to follow you around this heathen camp like a...a..a lost puppy, the way these Indian women do? If you do, Blaine Dekker, I've got news for you!" "Lower your voice, Winter! Two Feathers is watching us! Damn it,


haven't you heard anything I've said?" Blaine commanded with a thread of desperation slipping into his voice. "You'll do what I tell you until this mess is over and I can get you out of here. Until then, we've got no choice but to play the roles the council expects. "Unless you'd rather take your chances with every unmarried man in this camp. Two Feathers is a lot of things, Winter, but he doesn't bluff. What he said in the lodge before, about putting you out on the prairie? He meant it." His eyes had narrowed again and grew darker as his voice chilled. He sat cross-legged on the blanket, staring directly into her pale, angry face without blinking, but now one brow raised curiously. "I don't like the idea of watching twenty or thirty men take turns with you and I sure as hell don't like the idea of getting myself killed trying to stop it. "So you decide, Winter. What's it going to be? Will we do this my way or yours, and take the chance that neither of us will walk away from it?" "You're his grandson. He's gone to too much trouble to get you here to harm you," Winter reminded him in a much quieter voice. "Two Feathers will do what he must to keep Rising Sun here, to keep him Cheyenne, but if that fails, his honor will demand that Rising Sun be put to death to restore the honor of the Cheyenne," Half Moon said quietly. Winter looked at Half Moon quickly, wetting her lips when she saw the sincerity in the old woman's eyes. Shuddering, she looked back to Blaine's impassive face with a short nod. "What is it that you haven't told me?" she asked with a sigh of resignation. "This feast isn't only to celebrate my so-called triumph in the Sun Dance," Blaine began to explain quietly. He bent his head closer to hers so she could hear him over the din of the drums and chanting dancers. The curiosity that lit her eyes made him uncomfortable.


"It's also known as the mating dance," he went on without looking at her. "At the end of the dance the unmarried men can choose a woman and they'll leave together. Then in a couple of days, if their families all agree, they'll marry." "So?" Winter questioned, wondering why he seemed so uneasy. "So, when the drums stop you'll get up and go to your lodge. In a couple of I'll minutes I'll follow you." Winter's brows shot upward with surprise as her mouth dropped open. "W-what? Are you suggesting that I...that you...that we..." she sputtered. "It's what the council expects," Blaine interjected before she could fashion a coherent sentence. "It was part of my agreement with Two Feathers." "Agreement?" Winter asked hoarsely. Her eyes fluttered in amazement. Her breathing had become short gasps while she stared into Blaine's calm, impassive face. "What agreement? What are you talking about?" "I agreed to accept his terms to become chief when he dies and I agreed to stay here until that time on the condition that you were not harmed and that we could be together. The only way to do that is to marry." "M-marry! You mean you and I? Have you lost your mind?" Winter choked out between gasps of disbelief. "I don't see any other way, Winter," Blaine said, trying to keep his patience. "It is his right to choose the woman he wants," Half Moon added solemnly. "When the dancing stops the young men will wait until he has


chosen before taking a mate for themselves. If Rising Sun does not choose you one of the others will." "How would you like to spend a few nights with Shadow Dancer?" Blaine asked. His eyes had warmed and were now sparkling with amusement at the horror on Winter's face. "Better make up your mind, Winter. My grandfather is about to speak to the people. When he's finished there will be only a few minutes until the feast is over." Winter's lips worked soundlessly, but Two Feathers got stiffly to his feet and walked into the circle of dancers before she could choke out a response. The old chief held up one gnarled hand and the drums stopped. The dancers also stopped their chanting and silently took seats around the circle to await the old man's announcement. Two Feathers looked directly into Blaine's eyes as he began to address his people. "Many years ago my heart was saddened by the loss of my grandson. Now he has returned to gladden my heart and to lead his people. It is my wish that Rising Sun become chief of all the Cheyenne at my death. He has passed the trial of the Sun Dance. The gods are pleased. "Tonight he will choose a woman." At this point Two Feathers' gaze drifted momentarily to Winter's pale face. "They will marry and bring many sons to the Cheyenne. My grandson Rising Sun is a great warrior, but he is also wise. He has lived among the whites. He can lead our people to peace and greatness once more." When he finished speaking, he looked around the circle of faces expectantly. If anyone objected to his choice of a successor, they must speak now or forever remain silent. Several seconds ticked by and there was only silence. Then, just as Two Feathers had begun to leave the center of the ceremonial circle, a


warrior jumped to his feet and moved into the glow of the firelight. "Rising Sun has not proven he is a great warrior!" Shadow Dancer declared furiously. "He was sent from the people in disgrace! Passing the trial of the Sun Dance does not make him a great warrior! He has no war chant of his deeds in battle against the enemies of the Cheyenne!" While he spoke loudly to the assembly, Shadow Dancer had moved around the circle of quiet, watchful faces until he was standing directly before Blaine. Now, with great emphasis, he lifted high the war lance he had carried into the firelight and thrust it into the ground at Blaine's feet. A feral snarl curled his lips when he said contemptuously, "I, Shadow Dancer, challenge the right of Rising Sun to become chief of the Cheyenne.!" Winter glanced from Shadow Dancer's angry, contemptuous features to Blaine. Blaine's face was calm, almost amused she thought. His eyes gleamed with a strange kind of pleasure as he slowly rose to his feet and yanked the lance from the hard-packed earth. The firelight cast eerie shadows over his tall copper body in the seconds he stared into his cousin's angry face. "My cousin has heard the wishes of the council," he said in a soft, yet clear voice. "If my cousin wishes to challenge me for the right to become chief upon the death of my grandfather, let his blood be upon his own head." As he spoke, Blaine broke the war lance over his knee and threw the two pieces at Shadow Dancer's feet. The hatred that blazed from Shadow Dancer's black eyes across the short distance filled Winter with alarm, but Blaine seemed unaffected by it. He returned the warrior's glare calmly, yet Winter sensed the grim determination that held his body erect and his eyes amused. She felt the electricity that flowed between the two men in those few silent moments, saw the muscles work crazily in Shadow Dancer's jaw,


saw the cords in his neck bulge with fury. Glancing to Blaine, she saw the calmness in his face, the confidence that filled his eyes. He stood easily, feet slightly apart, never taking his eyes from Shadow Dancer's face, but without the obvious emotion that was so clear in the warrior's face. A chill ran through her blood to see the grim mixture of pleasure and determination in Blaine's impassive features. Shadow Dancer's gaze shifted from Blaine to Winter's pale face momentarily. "Enjoy your woman, my cousin, for the short time you have left for when our challenge is over, you will be dead and she will be my woman," " he said in a soft, contemptuous voice that was meant only for Blaine to hear. "You speak bravely, my cousin, for a man who is about to die," Blaine replied just as softly. "Even my woman has more courage than you. It does not require courage to kill a little girl, my cousin, as you once tried to do. I stopped you then and I'll stop you now from taking what is mine. This time I'll kill you, if I must." For a second they stared at one another, then Shadow Dancer reached down to pick up the shattered lance. "You shall hear from my uncle soon," he growled as he stalked past Blaine into the darkness beyond the fire. Winter knew he was referring to an arrangement between his family and Blaine's regarding a time and place for the challenge. A swift glance at Blaine's face revealed that same understated pleasure she'd seen earlier. He was actually looking forward to this duel, she thought in amazement. Old animosities and wounds had flattened Blaine's eyes and turned them cold. She shivered again, absently rubbing her arms as she inched away from him as the music and dancing began once more. Blaine dropped back onto the blanket beside her and turned to her with a quick smile. "Been thinking about what I said?" he asked.


Winter nodded curtly, looking away from the heat that had crept into his eyes. "The drums will stop at any moment," Blaine advised her in that same taunting tone. "Better make up your mind, Winter" "What if I don't do what you say?" she asked sharply. She hated the smug confidence that had lit his eyes, hated the way he suddenly seemed more Indian than white. "What if I prefer Shadow Dancer?" "It makes little difference," Blaine said calmly. His eyes drifted over her slowly, admiring the proud curve of her neck and the stubbornness that filled her face. "Choose me now or choose my cousin, if you wish. You'll still be mine after I kill him in the challenge." Winter gasped. "You're serious about this marriage business, aren't you?" she asked with a quivering voice. Her eyes locked with his in a silent battle of wills that sent a flood of warmth through her blood. "Yes, ma'am. Dead serious, Winter, because that's what we'll both be if I can't convince the council that I can be trusted." "But such a marriage isn't legal," she protested breathlessly, wishing she could look away from his mesmerizing eyes and ignore the rush of heat that was spreading through her body. "It's legal among the Cheyenne. It takes more than a piece of paper and a few words from some preacher to make a marriage, Winter." Then Blaine smiled as he trailed one long finger over her cheek. "Besides, think about all those times you offered yourself to me and I did the honorable thing. Once we're married, even in a heathen ceremony, I don't have to be honorable anymore." Winter wished she could deny the thrill of pleasure that surged through her at his suggestive comment, but the persistent hammering of her


heart would not be ignored. She knew it was useless to deny it. Blaine could surely read her thoughts too clearly for that. She was certain her emotions were written all over her face. She pulled her face away from his touch and dropped her head. "I think you're enjoying this too much," she said shakily. "I'm beginning to wonder who was tricked into this." A soft chuckle floated from Blaine's lips while he studied her averted face in the glow of the fire. Her eyes refused to meet his and the spots of color that stained each cheek belied the embarrassment in her voice. "There's not much point in bucking the odds, Winter," Blaine said pleasantly. "We're stuck here for awhile so we may as well make the best of it. I have to admit that the prospect of these long summer nights all alone, in a snug lodge, just you and me...well, it makes it all seem a little more worthwhile." "What happened to all that honor?" Winter quipped hatefully, wishing he would stop looking at her like that. "I didn't want you to find out I was Rising Sun. I was only doing what I felt was the right thing by holding you away, Winter," he said. His voice had dropped to a husky, honey-warm level that jangled her nerves and made her palms sweat. "But now," he added in a teasing tone once more, "I don't have to pretend that I don't want you. That would be pretty silly, don't you think, when it's so obvious that I do want you...and that you want me." Winter's mouth flew open to deny his words but suddenly the drums stopped. She glanced from the stationary dancers who were all watching Blaine, back to his amused face. She wet her lips and rose to her feet on shaky legs.


Looking down into his up-turned face, the desire that filled his eyes with fire made her knees weak and her body seem too warm for her skin. "I really have no choice, do I?" she asked as coolly as she could manage under the conditions. "I accept your proposal, Blaine. I only pray I don't live to regret it." Blaine took her hand and got to his feet. "I intend to see to it that you never have reason to regret it, Little Flower," he said in that husky voice that sent new floods of emotion through Winter's slender frame. "Just trust me to do what's best, for both of us." "I trusted Blaine Dekker," Winter heard herself say in a trembling voice. "Rising Sun is another matter." "You trusted Rising Sun once," he reminded her softly. His eyes caressed her face before moving downward to admire the slender body beneath the loose garment. "He was only a boy who couldn't protect you the way he wanted. He's a man now. It sounds like some grotesque joke, I know, my grandfather knowing just which string to pull to make me come to him on my knees. "But, it could turn out that the joke's on him. It's possible, Winter, that this could turn out better than either of us imagined." Winter looked at the wounds in his chest from the Sun Dance ceremony, then lifted her gaze to his face. "It seems that my life is in your hands once more, Rising Sun. I have no choice but to trust you, but only until I can go home. I'll do whatever I must to survive this ordeal, but when it's over and I can return to Gold River, it will be forgotten." There was a momentary tightening in Blaine's face, a flicker of displeasure deep in his eyes but even as it appeared, it was gone, replaced by a smile.


"As you wish, Winter," he said pleasantly. When he gave her a gentle push, she swallowed, then hurried from the circle of staring eyes into the darkness and ran to her lodge. She slumped down upon her sleeping mat to wait. A lump rose in her throat as she listened for his footsteps outside her lodge. She knew his appearance was only a formality to show their agreement to the tribe, that he would not enter the tent, but stand before it for a moment and then go to his mother's lodge. Still, she wrapped her arms around herself, rocking back and forth on the mat. A heathen marriage to a man who was steadily becoming more Indian and less white, she thought uneasily. A man who had given up everything to come to her aid. A man who had been disgraced and driven from his home as a boy because of his feelings for a lonely, shy little girl. She should be outraged, she thought nervously. She should be indignant and furious that she was being forced to marry him in an effort to convince the council that he could be trusted. Instead, she felt a wild exhilaration, a confusion of pleasure and apprehension. She froze at the sound of his footsteps at the entrance of the tent. "Good night, Winter," she heard him say softly. "See you tomorrow." His steps faded into the darkness and she smiled. Tomorrow, she thought curiously. She was suddenly eager for night to be over and for tomorrow to arrive. There was no way of knowing how many tomorrows they'd have together until this bizarre trial was over. But until she was set free to live among her own kind, she intended to follow Blaine's advice and make the best of it, especially those long summer nights in his arms.


CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Winter noticed the stares of the Cheyenne women as she walked through the village the following morning. The younger women seemed merely curious and admiring as Winter and Blaine walked slowly among the lodges on a sort of inspection tour. Blaine's arm slipped around her slender waist as he pointed out the difference in the lodges to Winter's inexperienced eyes. "Why are they staring at us?" Winter whispered after glancing around at the rows of curious eyes following them. "It's not Cheyenne custom for a man and woman to talk to each other before the wedding," Blaine explained with a smile. "From the time boys and girls are twelve or so they don't talk to each other at all. I imagine the women are trying to figure us out, that's all." "Some of them don't look too friendly." "Those are the older women, the ones who are strictest about tradition. Don't pay any attention to them, Winter. They'll get used to us eventually." "What about Half Moon? I don't think she's very happy about your choice of a wife," Winter pointed out dryly. Blaine's wide copper shoulders moved in a nonchalant shrug as he


stepped around a pair of toddlers in the path. "She'll adjust. It's nothing personal against you, Winter. She'd have preferred I married someone more Cheyenne, someone more familiar with tradition." "You mean a woman who would follow your every wish and thank you for it?" Winter replied snippily. "Yeah, something like that," he answered with a teasing grin. Winter lifted her head to an angle enabling her to observe him better. Dressed in traditional deerskin leggings and breechcloth with a beaded headband holding back his long black hair, he bore little resemblance to Blaine Dekker. She realized that knowledge no longer scared her as badly. She was adjusting to this Indian half of him in a manner she'd never dreamed was possible. The only thing that disturbed her now was the way he was slipping deeper and deeper into the role he was playing. She wondered what he would do when the chance came for him to leave this primitive life and go back to the white world he'd left behind. "What makes you think that someone won't be looking for us?" she asked suddenly. "I'm sure Marsh must be worried by now." The mention of Marsh Gordon's name brought a snort from Blaine as he glanced down at her. "The only thing Gordon is concerned about is how much silver he can dig out of Ben's mine before he's discovered. The last thing he'll be worried about is you." "What makes you so sure of that?" Winter demanded angrily. Her eyes began to snap at his sarcastic remark. "He and I have a business arrangement, remember? He can't begin exploring the mine until I give permission." "Wake up, Winter," Blaine growled impatiently. "Gordon has gone to great lengths to gain access to that mine. He killed Ben and I'm sure


he's behind all those killings that were made to look like Indians did it. He's robbed and cheated and tricked you into an agreement that insures him the mine. He could care less that you've disappeared." "What do you mean? Explain that!" Blaine sighed wearily as he drew a long breath. "Winter, I don't want to argue with you today of all days. I've got more urgent things on my mind than Marsh Gordon." "Then explain what you said and I'll drop the subject." "All right," Blaine agreed wearily. "Gordon killed Ben after Ben refused to sell him the claim. He tried again to buy it from you but you refused. He obviously has decided there are better ways of gaining your cooperation than killing you." He paused at the protest that sprang to Winter's lips and went on before she could interject. "He got you to agree to his terms for supplying the money for the mine. Either way, Winter, he wins. If you find the silver, he gets half for his investment, but there won't be any silver found before the time runs out because if he can marry you then he gets it all." "So why won't he be looking for me?" Winter persisted. "Because he's already started working the mine. No doubt he's forged your name to some agreement by now. If you don't reappear he's still got the mine; and if you do, he'll insist you stick to the original bargain." "How do you know he's already working the mine?" "My new deputies, remember?" Blaine reminded her with a pleased smile. "He started work on the mine two days after you disappeared." "Why that...that miserable...claim jumper!" Winter snarled furiously.


"Don't worry, Winter, he won't find anything," Blaine assured her secretively. "There's been another explosion at the mine. And by the time he gets it cleaned up there'll be another one, then another until I've found enough proof to arrest him." Slowly a devilish smile spread over Winter's face. "You've thought this out very well." Then her expression sobered as she stared at him curiously. "Just how have you explained your disappearance to the people of Gold River?" "I contacted the federal marshal's office in Denver and explained the situation. Believe me, Winter, they're just as eager to settle this trouble with the Indians without bloodshed as Two Feathers. They have high expectations that with me on the inside, we'll be able to head off any killing and come to some peaceful agreement." "And the people in town? "They've been told I'm on assignment elsewhere," he told her pleasantly. "Searching for the Indian that killed your folks, which also explains your sudden disappearance. You're helping me with the investigation." "You think you're pretty smart, don't you?" Winter said quarrelsomely. "No, just thorough. Like I said, there's no reason this business can't work to our advantage too. If I can get evidence on Gordon and prevent an Indian war, then I figure I've done a pretty good job." "What about Shadow Dancer?" Winter pointed out in a more serious tone. "He presents a considerable wrinkle in your plans, doesn't he? I mean, suppose he wins this fight? What does that do to your plans?" "For one thing I won't be around to worry about it," Blaine said with a


tight smile. "For another, you'll spend your honeymoon with him instead of me." "Then you'd better not lose," Winter said scornfully, although the shine in her eyes took the sarcasm from her words. "I don't intend to lose," Blaine assured her pleasantly. His arm tightened around her waist as he drew her closer. "There's only one man who's going to share your honeymoon, Winter, and that's me." "It won't be easy to defeat him," she reminded him, trying to ignore the racing of her heart and keep up a serious discussion. "He's determined to kill you." "I know that," Blaine said in a more serious manner. "He's a dangerous man, but I've got an edge over him." "What's that?" "I've got a helluva lot more to lose." They walked in silence for a time, dodging small children and barking dogs, nodding pleasantly to the men they passed. As they neared the medicine lodge, they were met by a quartet of elders. "Rising Sun," Flying Owl greeted them with a solemn expression. "It is time to speak of my nephew's challenge." Blaine nodded, ignoring the shudder than ran through Winter's slender form encased against his side. "I am ready, Flying Owl. I will accept the arrangements of the uncle of Shadow Dancer." "Tonight at first moon," the old Indian returned. There was a sadness in his voice that piqued Winter's curiosity in those few seconds. She noticed


the tiny shrug from once erect shoulders, now stooped with age, the almost apologetic expression on his wrinkled copper face. "My nephew acts foolishly. He does not think of what is best for the people, but of his own pride." Winter knew this was as close as the old man could come to wishing Blaine good luck. Still, she could tell he hoped Blaine would prevail and take the reins of the tribe upon Two Feathers' death as the council wished. Amazing, she thought with a thoughtful glance at Blaine's impassive face. "That's quite a testimonial," she observed. "It's unusual for a Cheyenne to hope his own blood gets himself killed." "Shadow Dancer went against the council when he challenged me," Blaine said gruffly as they moved onward. "He's a hot-head. Always has been." "Not the kind of leader the Cheyenne hope for. If he should become chief I can see how it would lead to trouble," Winter agreed quietly. "He would lead the people to destruction. That's why I must defeat him and keep him from gaining more power and influence among the warriors. If I can defeat him, the others will follow me without any arguments." "You make it sound so simple." The bleakness in his eyes when he looked down at her surprised her. There was a heaviness in him that slipped through the veil he threw over his emotions. "Killing a man is never simple," he said thoughtfully. "Especially when it's done in hand-to-hand combat and when there's so much at stake. I wish there was some other way." "So do I, Blaine," Winter said softly as she tucked her hand through his arm and leaned her bright chestnut head against his shoulder. "I wish


there was something I could do to help." "There is," he said, smiling at the surprise that filled her eyes. "Be there tonight. Stand in front of the circle so I can see you. If you're there to remind me what's at stake, how can I lose?" The teasing tone of his voice was a stark contrast to the fleeting glimpse of raw emotion she saw in his eyes. She wet her lips and nodded, unable to look anywhere except in his intense blue eyes. "I'll be there," she whispered weakly. "I couldn't be anywhere else." *** After Blaine left her at Half Moon's lodge, Winter spent the afternoon with the old woman learning how to prepare the pomme blanche and mix it with the rabbit stew and wild vegetables. Winter was fascinated with the old woman's knowledge of roots and berries that were the staple of the Indian diet. Half Moon patiently explained how the dibble was used to dig roots and how the two types of dibble were used for different types of roots after being hardened by fire. Winter listened eagerly while Half Moon explained the difference in the eight or ten types of roots gathered for food, the sixteen types of fruits, and the dozen kinds of stalks. Half Moon explained how the food was gathered, then preserved by dehydration in the hot sun for winter use. She also explained how the chokeberry was gathered, then pulped on a stone mortar and made into sun-dried cakes and how it could be mixed with dried meats to make pemmican. Finally the old woman leaned back from her lesson and gave her future daughter-in-law a speculative stare. The black eyes slowly observed the innocence in Winter's up-turned face, the anticipation in the girl's


eyes. With a grunt, Half Moon moved about the lodge to obtain a carefully wrapped bundle and present it to Winter. She motioned that the girl was to open the bundle, then sat back on her heels to watch. Winter gingerly opened the bundle, unfolding a deerskin dress so elegantly beaded and decorated, it caused her to gasp. It was almost white in color, so soft it was difficult to believe it had once been coarse and rough. Winter held it up as she looked at the old woman. "Mine? It's for me?" "For you," Half Moon confirmed with a tiny smile at the girl's obvious pleasure. "Wedding dress. I made it many years ago for marriage to Rising Sun's father. Now it is yours for marriage to my son." "I don't know what to say," Winter said hesitantly. She ran a hand over the beautiful garment and looked back to the old woman's solemn face. "It's very beautiful. Thank you. I shall wear it proudly." Half Moon grunted and climbed to her feet, indicating that she wished Winter to follow her outside. Winter carefully laid aside the garment and rose to her feet. "Now we begin work on your own lodge," Half Moon said seriously. "There is much work to do and you have much to learn." Winter considered telling the old woman that she didn't intend to be around long enough to need much knowledge about tent-making, then thought better of it. Deciding it was to her advantage to learn all she could about these people, she listened carefully to Half Moon's instructions. Besides, it was better to be doing something than sitting in her lodge wondering what tonight's challenge might bring.


Her youthful enthusiasm made Half Moon smile more than once that afternoon as they slowly erected a lodge beside Half Moon's. It was the Cheyenne custom that a newly married couple live near the bride's family, but in Winter's case she had no family nearby. Therefore, the new lodge was being built near Half Moon's lodge so she would be nearby to advise the young woman on marital matters if she needed it. Warm in winter, cool in summer, a Cheyenne lodge was sturdy enough to withstand strong winds, yet so simple to assemble that the two women had it erected within a couple of hours. Typically made of buffalo skins stitched together and stretched over a pole framework, Winter's lodge was made more of canvas obtained from the Indian agency. The huge buffalo herds had long since vanished from the plains, leaving the Cheyenne without their vast usefulness. Still, the canvas was stretched over poles in the form of a tripod of very strong poles for the main supports. The remaining poles were leaned against these main supports and tied into place. Winter noticed that the dwelling was slightly leaning and asked why. While she worked, Half Moon patiently explained that by being slightly tilted more headroom was provided and it permitted better ventilation because the smoke hole was off-center. Also the greater slant of the front gave more strength against west winds. When the poles were in place, Half Moon placed a folded hide cover to a strong lifting pole and put it in position. From that point it was simple to unfold the cover around the poles, peg the bottom down, and close the vertical seam with wooden pins and attach the door flap. Finally, Half Moon inserted two light poles in the pockets of the smoke flap. Standing back to admire their handiwork, the old woman nodded with satisfaction. Winter saw that in remarkably short time they had erected a snug home fifteen feet in diameter with room for beds, a supply of firewood and a stockpile of food.


"It is done," Half Moon announced proudly. "All that remains is for you to marry Rising Sun." Glancing toward the darkening sky, her face became solemn once more. "But that must wait until he has met Shadow Dancer's challenge. Come, it grows late. I must help Rising Sun prepare for this duel." She hustled Winter off to her own lodge with instructions to stay there until darkness. She had special herbs prepared to make into a strong tea that she said would make Rising Sun immune to Shadow Dancer's lance. Winter sat forlornly on her sleeping mat. She did not believe in the Cheyenne medicine, but with so much at stake, a cup of Cheyenne tea certainly couldn't hurt.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

The sun had slipped behind the horizon when Half Moon came at last to Winter's lodge. The anxiety in the old woman's face made Winter afraid and strangely sympathetic. Without thinking, she squeezed Half Moon's hand, smiling her reassurance. Surprise sprang to the woman's ebony eyes at the gesture, then was hidden behind that unsmiling expression that covered all emotion. "Don't worry, Half Moon. Blaine will defeat Shadow Dancer. I'm sure of it," she said confidently. Half Moon nodded silently as she quickly led the way through the


village. Already the tribe had assembled for the challenge and there was much shouting and good-natured pushing as the warriors bet on which contestant would emerge as the victor. Winter's knowledge of the language told her that the bets were evenly divided between Blaine and Shadow Dancer. More importantly, she learned that many of the warriors were more concerned with what Shadow Dancer's victory might mean to the tribe. It seemed that a small faction of warriors were eagerly awaiting the result of this battle in hopes that Shadow Dancer would win and lead them into battle with the whites. But Winter heard enough of their conversation to realize that if Blaine won they would follow whatever path he chose... She began to understand what Blaine meant when he said he had to win the respect of these warriors if he expected them to follow him on a peaceful road. She was mulling this over when the assembly grew silent. Looking toward the medicine lodge, she saw Blaine approaching with Two Feathers and Tall Grass at his side. From the opposite direction came Shadow Dancer with Flying Owl and a younger warrior Winter did not recognize. Tall Grass and the warrior with Shadow Dancer drew a large circle in the dirt around the bonfire. While the people gathered around the edge of the circle, Blaine and Shadow Dancer stepped into the center and stood glaring at each other. Wearing only breechcloths and headbands, the two men were almost equal in size and strength. Glancing at Shadow Dancer, her heart filled with hatred. This was the man who had murdered her mother. The man who had so savagely taken her family from her, who would have killed her too, had not Blaine intervened. For the first time in her life Winter wanted to see a man die, to see his blood pour into the dirt as his life bubbled away. She pushed her way to the front of the circle of spectators and waved at Blaine. She felt his gaze touch her, hold for an instant, then return to Shadow Dancer's face. Two Feathers and Flying Owl handed each


man a knife, then stood back to signal the start of the battle. Two Feathers gave the starting signal, but for several seconds both men remained perfectly still, sizing up the other. Then with a hair-raising scream, Shadow Dancer lunged across the open space, his blade flashing as he struck out for Blaine's chest. Blaine danced away easily, circling his opponent in a half-crouch, his eyes narrowed, his own knife flashing out and drawing blood with a slash on Shadow Dancer's arm. Shadow Dancer whirled, viewing his enemy with new respect. His eyes revealed surprise at finding his cousin a more formidable adversary than he'd anticipated. They circled each other, pushing each other's knife hand away, kicking at the other's legs in an effort to trip him. Within moments both men were covered with sweat and blood as both landed blows. Slowly Shadow Dancer seemed to realize this was going to be a fight to the death that he was no longer assured of winning. Winter's breath was frozen in her throat from the savagery in that small circle of death. She began to tremble violently, clenching her hands tightly into fists to prevent crying out Blaine's name when Shadow Dancer's knife opened a gash across his chest. Despite her fear, Winter's admiration for Blaine Dekker rose during those fierce minutes. She was amazed at the lack of fear in him as he deftly avoided Shadow Dancer's blade while taking advantage of each opportunity to draw his enemy's blood. There was a calmness in him that she'd never imagined, a kind of deliberation that restored her dwindling confidence. She wondered vaguely if he was enjoying this death dance. That calm, amused smile that just barely touched his mouth was still in place as he caught Shadow Dancer's knife hand and shoved him backwards onto the ground. She realized quickly that she was seeing a side of him that he'd hoped would never be necessary. This was why he'd tried so hard


to keep her from learning his true identity, this savage side of his nature that had surfaced so clearly since his arrival in the village. Both men were tiring as the battle worn on. Both began breathing more heavily, to show signs of strain. Winter knew that only one mistake would result in death. One small miscalculation, one stumble, one small slip. She hoped desperately that when that mistake was finally made, it would be Shadow Dancer who made it. Seconds dragged into minutes as the two warriors continued their death struggle. The bantering and jostling among the on-lookers ceased. The crowd now was almost totally silent while they watched the battle building to a climax. Then, almost more quickly than Winter's eyes could follow, Shadow Dancer struck out, but Blaine caught his wrist and flung him backwards. They rolled together through the bonfire, wrestling desperately to keep the other's knife hand at bay. Sparks from the burning logs showered the sky, lending a festive air to the proceedings that was out of place in such a dramatic setting. When the sparks cleared, Winter saw that Blaine was holding Shadow Dancer's knife hand in the flames. With a muted cry, Shadow Dancer released the knife and let it drop into the fire. Then with a savage burst of strength, Blaine twisted Shadow Dancer's arm and flipped him over, face-down into the dirt. Keeping the pressure on the bent arm, Blaine rested his knee in the middle of Shadow Dancer's back, letting his full weight force the warrior to cease struggling. A bleakness came into Shadow Dancer's eyes in those few seconds. With Blaine's weight pressing into his spine, he had no choice but surrender or let Blaine break his back. The silence was deafening. Winter waited with the rest of the tribe for Blaine to finish the struggle. Coolly, deliberately, he placed his knife blade against Shadow Dancer's throat. The expression of triumph that


lit his face chilled Winter's blood. She had never seen such savagery in him before, such ability to kill. She was suddenly terrified of him, of what he'd become since his arrival in the village. With the knife in position at his enemy's throat, Blaine lifted his head to the crowd of spectators. "It is my right to take the life of my enemy!" he said in a clear voice. "I have defeated him in the challenge. I can kill him if I choose!" At this point Blaine's voice dropped to a softer level as he looked down at his prey. "But I do not choose to kill him!" Winter gasped in disbelief. She stared at Blaine open-mouthed, strangely both pleased and angry at his decision to let Shadow Dancer live. "It is Cheyenne law that to take the life of another Cheyenne is the most offensive crime a man can commit," Blaine was saying to the crowd of surprised spectators. "But that is not why I choose to spare the life of my adversary." A grim, humorless smile touched his lips for an instant, then disappeared as quickly as it had come. "My cousin knows why I spare his life." His eyes dropped to Shadow Dancer's angry, frustrated features as he released his hold on the warrior's arm, letting him sit up. "Many years ago you watched me driven from the village in shame. You rejoiced in my disgrace...as I rejoice now in yours. You will leave the village, my cousin, and you will not return. You are banished from the people, as I was once banished. You are shamed as I was once shamed. You will now know the loneliness and separation that I once felt." He slid his knife back into the sheath inside the breechcloth at his side and stepped back to let Shadow Dancer rise. The hate in the warrior's eyes made Winter's blood chill in the few seconds they stood staring into each other's eyes. "You should kill me now, cousin," Shadow Dancer hissed. "While you have the advantage. If you do not, we will someday finish this


fight...and I will be the victor " That calm, amused smile came once more to Blaine's lips while he returned Shadow Dancer's spiteful gaze. But beneath the humor, Winter saw the coldness that made his eyes gleam, felt the granite behind the smile. "I have spared your life, my cousin, so you can know the agony of being shamed before your people. Listen well to my warning. Stay away from the people. Cross my path again, and I will kill you, as surely as I could have killed you tonight." Shadow Dancer turned on his heel and stalked away into the darkness surrounding the circle. His small band of followers whispered among themselves as he left, deciding whether or not to follow him or stay and follow the wishes of the council by accepting Blaine as their new leader. When they remained in the circle, Winter knew Blaine had won their respect as well as their allegiance. She drew a long breath of relief and quickly withdrew to her own lodge. Blaine would be looking for her soon, but it was too early to face him. She was unprepared for the flood of conflicting emotions roaring through her. Angry that he had let Shadow Dancer live, yet she was relieved that he had spared his life. She was afraid that Shadow Dancer would try to carry out his threat, but at the same time confident that Blaine was in no danger from his enemy, terrified of the violent nature Blaine had displayed in the battle, yet strangely excited by it. She was trembling when she slipped into her lodge and sank down upon the sleeping mat. Afraid of what Blaine was becoming, she was more afraid of her own feelings. She was afraid that this excitement arising from the bloody exhibition she had just witnessed would overshadow her common sense. Blaine was becoming a Cheyenne warrior right before her eyes.


However, that did not trouble her as much as what that made her. She did not care for the thought of being any man's squaw. Even Blaine Dekker's.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Perhaps an hour passed while Winter sat mutely on her sleeping mat. She stared at the opposite side of the lodge, absently chewing her lower lip, trying to bring her confused emotions into focus. Slowly she realized the camp had grown quiet. Turning toward the tent flap, she listened to the sounds outside, surprised that the village had gone to sleep while she was lost in her thoughts. A dog's lonely howl made her shiver. She moved to light the pile of kindling in the circle of rocks and held her hands before the warming blaze, still listening to the howling off in the distance. There was a movement outside the tent, then a knock on the tent pole. Winter leaped to her feet, hurrying to the opening. Trying to calm her racing heart, she paused before the tent flap and wet her lips. "Yes?" "It is Two Feathers," came the gruff voice outside the tent. Winter lifted a trembling hand to open the flap. Knowing the old chief would not enter her lodge, she forced her shaky legs beyond the opening, staring at the old man. Bitterness turned her gaze bleak with hatred when she remembered his part in the deaths of her parents. "W-what is it?" she heard herself ask in a shaky voice.


While Two Feathers viewed her inquisitively for a moment without speaking, Winter felt as though he was able to see beyond her skull right into her very thoughts. "I bring gifts from Rising Sun," the old man said at last. He indicated a spot behind him. Looking past him, Winter saw the snowwhite pony nuzzling at his shoulder. A gasp of pleasure slipped from her lips as she moved to stroke the animal's muzzle, marveling at its beauty and grace. "My grandson wishes to become your husband." Winter's head snapped around to stare at him in surprise. She suddenly realized that the pony was a gesture of Blaine's intentions. To accept the gift was to accept his proposal of marriage. "You may tell Rising Sun that I accept his gift with great appreciation," she said in a calm voice that surprised her. "I will be pleased to be his Cheyenne wife...for such a time as the council requires." The barest hint of a smile came to Two Feathers' wrinkled face. Winter bristled beneath the amused gaze from his ebony eyes, lifting her head stubbornly. "Does that amuse you, Chief Two Feathers"? she asked sarcastically. "I am amused that my grandson thinks me such a fool," he replied, smiling inwardly at the shock that leaped into Winter's face. "I am aware of my grandson's feelings. I know that he comes to his people only because of his fear for you. In that, he knows me well for I place the welfare of my people above all else and would not hesitate to kill you if he does not keep his word to the council. "But he thinks he can convince the council of his intentions and persuade them to set you free," he added cheerfully. "He is only half right. You will remain with the people until we are certain Rising Sun


can be trusted, but it will take more than his defeating Shadow Dancer in the challenge to convince the council...or his marriage. "You cannot be trusted, Little Flower, now...or ever. The hatred within your heart burns in your eyes for all to see. Your marriage to my grandson will not change your hatred for his people. If my grandson thinks you will come to understand him or his people, he is the fool. You will become his wife to save your own life, but your heart is hard. It will not change. For that, my grandson shows bad judgment. He thinks with his heart, not with his head." "Then perhaps he won't prove to be the great savior of the Cheyenne that you think he will," Winter said scornfully. The old chief surveyed her flushed, angry features silently for a moment, admiring her courage while at the same time thinking such rudeness unbecoming the wife of a chief. "My grandson will be the leader I wish him to be," he said at length, still staring at her without blinking. "He needs only to learn the value of a woman...and her place. And this he will learn in time. As will you." Winter stifled her angry retort, knowing it would only amuse the old man more. Instead, she drew a steadying breath as she began to stroke the white pony's satin muzzle. "Then why not remove the problem by setting me free?" she asked in a surprisingly calm tone. "With me gone, Blaine would have nothing to distract him from his chiefly duties. He'd be a better chief and I would be back where I belong." Two Feathers' black eyes sparkled at the controlled rage that was so apparent in her eyes. "Perhaps you are right, Little Flower, but I cannot take that chance. Until Rising Sun has once more accepted his place here, you must remain. It was our agreement." Then, to head off more argument, Two Feathers motioned toward the


pony. "As my grandson's male relative I accept your pledge to become his wife. I will tell him you await him in your new lodge." He turned to leave her, then changed his mind and turned back. "If you wish to be Rising Sun's wife only in the village, that is your choice. But you should know that when a Cheyenne warrior marries, he marries for life." Winter's chin lifted stubbornly as she returned his amused stare coldly. "Blaine is well aware of my feelings on this matter. He knows perfectly well that when I'm released from this prison any relationship between us will be ended." "My grandson is a proud man," Two Feathers said thoughtfully. "Much can happen before you are set free. Perhaps you will find your prison is not the Cheyenne, but your own heart." "My heart is white!" Winter snapped angrily. "Like the hearts of my parents that you let be murdered eighteen years ago! And so is my mind! Neither of them will change!" Her eyes narrowed contemptuously, her breath came in labored gulps despite her effort to remain calm. She faced the old chief with her hands clenched into fists, glaring at him in the moonlight. "Don't underestimate your grandson! He is half-white and that blood is very strong." "Rising Sun gave his word to the council. He will not break it. He is Cheyenne, Little Flower. He becomes more Cheyenne with each passing sun. Surely, you can see this for yourself." Winter looked away to avoid the wise expression in the old man's face. He had voiced her own thoughts, but the confidence in his tone caused a shudder to spread over her. She suddenly felt very cold. "Many years ago Blaine chose his white blood over the Cheyenne. Chose me over you!" she pointed out curtly, wanting to erase the confidence from his face.


"Should my grandson choose you once more over his people, he knows it will mean your death," Two Feathers said softly. His ebony eyes narrowed slightly as the amusement in him was instantly buried behind an icy wall that sent a chill of warning through Winter. "You will live only as long as Rising Sun keeps his vow to the council. He will not forget this...even if your sharp tongue speaks too quickly." Winter's breath was sucked in quickly as she recognized the subtle warning in the old chief's words. For a long moment they stared at each other, then a soft rustling sound caught Two Feathers' attention and he turned in its direction. Following his gaze, Winter saw Half Moon waiting silently in the moonlight. "She has accepted Rising Sun's pledge," Two Feathers said in a manner that was little more than a grunt. "Prepare her." Without a glance backward, he stomped off into the darkness Winter stared after him with a cold, empty dread filling her bones. Even when Blaine had relayed the council's threats, she had not been as shaken as she was now. Hearing her life spoken of so casually by the old Cheyenne chief had scared her in a manner she had not known existed. Equally as disturbing was Two Feathers' uncanny prediction about Blaine's increasing leaning toward his Indian heritage. As she stood shaking in the warm summer moonlight, Winter did not know which fact distressed her more. She was jolted from her thoughts by Half Moon's gentle, but persistent hand on her arm pulling her toward the new lodge which stood nearby. Winter wet her lips as she picked up the reins of the white pony and led him to the lodge, tying him in front to show the village her acceptance of Blaine' s proposal. Once inside, Half Moon unfolded the wedding dress she had given Winter earlier and helped the girl change into it. "You should not speak


so rudely to the chief," she chided gently as she smoothed the deerskin fringe into place around the skirt. "It does not show respect for your husband." "What about the way he spoke to me?" Winter countered scornfully. "He acts like women are just so much property! I refuse to be treated so crudely!" "You'd do well to listen to the words of my father," Half Moon advised her cautiously. "You must not bring shame to Rising Sun." She bent to straighten a row of delicate beading that had twisted when Winter slipped the garment over her head. "The wife of a chief must be very careful how she speaks," Half Moon said solemnly. "The other women will be watching to see how she conducts herself. If the women do not respect a chief because of his wife, their husbands will not respect him...or follow him." The old woman's warning hit a responsive cord in Winter's logic and she nodded in agreement. "Yes, of course. Blaine explained all that to me but Two Feathers made me so angry! I will try to be more careful in the future," she added more calmly. Half Moon nodded with satisfaction. She stood back to survey Winter, then nodded again. "It is done. You are ready for your husband." Winter's heart jumped into her throat. Her palms began to sweat. She wet her lips nervously and shook her head. "I'm not so sure about that," she said in a voice barely a whisper. "I'm not sure I'll ever be ready." "You are not an inexperienced maiden," Half Moon pointed out gently. She surprised herself by reaching out to pat Winter's arm reassuringly, then pulled her hand back as if embarrassed. "There is much feeling between you and my son. There is no need for shyness when he comes


to you." "The only feeling between myself and your son is purely physical," Winter replied shortly. She looked away from Half Moon's watchful eyes, feeling suddenly naive and vulnerable. "Don't ask me to explain it. I can't. I don't really understand it myself." "It is the feeling of need between a man and a woman. It has no explanation." Winter looked quickly back to the old woman's face. There was a peacefulness in those lined features that surprised her. She suddenly realized that Blaine' s mother was remembering a time many years before when a young white trapper had captured her heart. It came as a shock to realize that the Indian woman was just as capable of deep feelings as any other woman. Somehow that knowledge made her feel ashamed. "I thought everything had an explanation," she said lamely. Half Moon's graying head moved in a firm negative motion while the ebony eyes remained locked with Winter's. "Some things need no explanation. They need only to be accepted...and enjoyed for as long as they exist. So it is with your need for my son...and his need for you." "But those feelings...they're so...intense.." Winter stammered, wondering why she felt the need to explain. "And they won't last forever. Like this marriage...it will last only as long as I'm a prisoner here. Blaine knows that, he's accepted that. When I'm set free. any feelings between myself and Blaine must end." "Feelings have a life of their own. They come and go as they please, not as we please." Half Moon cocked her head to one side, listening to a noise outside. Then she moved toward the tent flap with a half-smile. "Rising Sun


awaits his new wife. I must go." Winter's mouth opened to voice a protest, but the old woman was already gone. Seconds later there came a soft tap at the opening of the lodge. "Winter? It's Blaine. May I come in?" came Blaine's husky voice from the darkness. Winter wet her lips as she smoothed the soft deerskin dress against her thighs. Her heart was pounding so hard against her ribcage she could hardly hear herself speak. Her throat felt dry, her words sounded scratchy and she felt almost faint while her mind searched for a reply to Blaine's question. "Yes, of course. You may enter." She backed up a step when the flap opened and Blaine's dark head and shoulders appeared through the opening. He straightened to his full height once inside the lodge, his presence filling the interior to such capacity that Winter felt anxious and backed away another step. Blaine's eyes narrowed slightly at the gesture, then widened again with amusement at the surprise that had sprung to her beautiful face. Winter's eyes flashed over him twice before resting on his face. She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue and gestured toward his clothing. "W-why are you dressed like that?" she asked haltingly. "I don't understand." A slow smile curled Blaine's lips as he moved further into the lodge. He shrugged casually as he stood before her, relaxed and calm, though he studied her every facial infliction carefully. "I thought you'd be more comfortable if I didn't look so much like an Indian." Winter nodded as her eyes traveled the length of him once more. Gone


were the Indian clothes that he'd worn since arriving in the village. In their place was the more familiar blue denim trousers with a dark blue shirt tucked neatly into the wide leather belt around his waist. Winter's face grew warm from the his scrutiny. She was touched by this thoughtful gesture of not coming to her dressed like the Cheyenne warrior he had become during the past few days. It gave her hope that he had not been as completely immersed in the role of the warrior chieftain as she'd feared. "It's very kind of you to be so concerned about my feelings," she said. "But it's quite unnecessary, you know. You've explained the situation very clearly...I have no questions. I know why you're here and what's expected of us so there's no need for all this politeness." She lifted her head proudly, letting her eyes lock with his across the small, dimly lit space. "So let's just get on with it, shall we?" She was surprised when Blaine laughed softly. He dropped to his heels before the tiny fire and crossed his legs Indian-style, then sat looking up at her with his lips twitching with amusement. "What's the rush, Winter?" he asked in a warm, husky voice that caused her palms to begin sweating. "I'm in no hurry. According to Cheyenne law, we were married when you accepted the horse from my grandfather. We have plenty of time. There's still time to back out, if you want," he added in a more serious tone. Winter's eyes widened with surprise at the statement so he shrugged again and tried to explain. "Winter, I'm not going to force you," he said quietly. "If you don't feel right about sleeping with me, or if you don't want to...well, it's up to you. I'm not going to pressure you." Winter stared at him in silence for a time, then dropped to her heels


beside him. "I'm sorry I was so abrupt before," she said softly. "I'm just nervous, I guess...I mean...I'm not sure what to expect anymore. Things have happened so fast...I'm so confused about everything..." While she spoke, Blaine reached out to trail one finger across her silky cheek and down the hollow of her throat until the words died on her lips. Her eyes lifted to his and held, searching for a clue as to his unusually gentle behavior until the warmth she saw building there slowly became a fierce blue inferno. Embarrassed, she looked away for a second, then looked back into his eyes when his firm pressure on her cheek required it. Excited, yet fearful to see the extent of his desire, Winter wet her lips nervously. "Funny, isn't it? I mean, I've thought about you so many times...wondered what it would be like to make love with you...and now...now when it's so close to actually happening, I'm behaving like a silly schoolgirl," she murmured with her eyes downcast. The slow, easy smile that parted Blaine's sensual lips relaxed her fears, made her heart race with excitement. She felt her own blood tingle as it pumped through her veins, knew her eyes were telling him clearly the unspoken feelings she had been unable to voice. "Never, not even at your worst, Winter, have you ever behaved like a silly schoolgirl," Blaine said in that soft, husky voice that sounded like warm honey to Winter's ears. While he spoke, Blaine was leaning toward her, pulling her face gently toward him until, as the statement died on his lips, their mouths were only a whisper apart. Winter closed her eyes and weaved unsteadily into his embrace, giving herself up to the warm flood of emotion that filled her at the touch of his lips on hers. Blaine tasted her mouth slowly, savoring it, enjoying the feel of her soft, lush lips beneath his. His arms slid around her slim body, pulling


her more fully into his embrace until Winter could feel his heart beating against her breast. Winter's nervousness fled beneath the onslaught of excitement and desire that turned her blood to liquid flame and her bones to smoldering ashes. She returned his kisses eagerly, pressing closer to his hard-muscled body, running her fingers through his long black hair. Her breath became short pants, broken by soft, muted moans of pleasure as Blaine's lips moved down her throat, exploring the pulsating hollow at the base of her throat. She tugged at the buttons of his shirt, wanting to enjoy the touch of his bare skin beneath her fingertips. Seconds later they were both lying naked on the buffalo robe beside the fire. Winter gave a small gasp of surprise when her fingertips traced the long gash across Blaine's chest. Opening her eyes and sitting upright, she explored his body for other injuries but except for the gash on his chest, he was unharmed. "Blaine, are you sure you're all right?" she asked cautiously, her bright eyes searching his face. "Do you feel all right?" "You tell me," Blaine suggested with a teasing smile while his hand guided hers down his body until it encountered his erection. Winter's desire was too intense to be embarrassed. Her own boldness no longer surprised her as she smiled into his dancing eyes and let her fingers slide around the throbbing shaft. "I-I just don't want you to hurt yourself," she murmured. "You've been through so much tonight..." Blaine took her face between his hands, pulled her face forward and kissed her again. "Cheyenne men have extraordinary stamina, Winter. Don't you know that?" he asked her in a light, bantering tone to relieve her anxieties. "But I'm not a Cheyenne man tonight," he added more seriously while he searched her bright, desire-filled eyes. "I'm just


me...Blaine Dekker, with all my faults and flaws. There's no one else in the world tonight but the two of us. There's nothing I want more in the world than to spend this night making love to you." He hesitated briefly to let Winter absorb his statement, then bent forward to softly kiss her again. "But only if you're sure it's what you want, Winter." Winter drew his face closer and hungrily kissed him, wanting him to know how much she wanted to be with him. Blaine's last straw of resistance slipped away with the desire in her kiss. He drew her back down onto the robe, kissing her. He began at the top of her head and moved slowly downward, trailing warm, sensual kisses over her silky flesh while Winter lay back in his arms, reveling in the delight his lips brought to her senses. By the time his lips had reached the peaks of her breasts, Winter was gasping for breath. Soft, muted moans of delight bubbled from her parted lips. Opening her eyes, she was mesmerized by the intense gleam in his eyes as he kissed her lips before returning to nuzzle gently at her breasts. A gnawing deep inside was steadily building as Blaine's expert touch moved down her belly and opened her thighs. Winter felt faint, dizzy, yet more alive than ever before in her life. This was what she'd known was lacking in her marriage. This electrifying delight that melted her bones and made her heart soar was foreign and yet, strangely natural. Her anxiety was gone, replaced with a desire so strong it wiped away all other emotions. Little electric shocks rippled through her veins when Blaine's lips explored the hidden recesses below the patch of dark hair between her thighs. Her nails dug into the hard muscles of his shoulders, her breath came in labored gasps, her body arched upward against his mouth in an effort to drown herself in the ever-growing storm of desire raging inside her.


Just when Winter thought she'd explode, she opened her eyes to find Blaine resting on one elbow watching her. The desire in his eyes was so alive Winter was mesmerized by it and found herself unable to tear her eyes away. He was waiting, she realized, for her to give him a sign that she wanted to continue. She lifted her arms to him, offering herself to him completely and was rewarded when his lean body moved over hers as he took her back into his arms. Smoothing her damp hair back from her eyes, Blaine's eyes searched her face carefully as he asked, "Are you sure, Winter?" "Love me, Blaine," Winter whispered against his lips. "I want you to love me." With a moan, Blaine lowered himself into her eagerly awaiting flesh. Winter's long legs curled around his back. Her lips parted with the onrush of pleasure that his entrance into her body brought while her body arched beneath him as he began a slow, tantalizing rhythm that gradually increased in tempo until they were both covered with perspiration. With a strangled cry, Winter shuddered, digging her nails into his shoulders as she arched upward sharply. Her eyes were closed so she did not see the pleased smile that warmed his eyes as she let out a long breath, then settled back in his arms. Sure that Winter was satisfied, Blaine allowed himself to seek release and moments later relaxed beside her on the robe, pulling her damp body back securely into his embrace. Kissing the top of her head, he smiled when she snuggled close to his side and placed one hand on his chest. Within moments she was fast asleep. Blaine lay awake for a long time, holding her close, watching her sleep, wondering if he'd made a huge mistake by letting the situation get so far out of hand.


CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

The sound of birds chirping in the trees near the encampment slowly woke Winter from the peaceful state of sleep. Then, as she stretched beneath the warm buffalo robe, she realized that it was not the sounds of nature that had awakened her, but the sound of voices outside the lodge. She turned over quickly, searching for Blaine, then realized she was alone in the lodge. Sitting up, she tuned her ears to the voices outside and gave a small sigh of relief when she recognized Blaine's husky baritone as one of the voices. The other was that of the tall warrior Tall Grass who had captured her at the mine. "You're sure?" she heard Blaine ask. "I am sure, Rising Sun," Tall Grass answered seriously. "The scouts have not let the agent Gordon from their sight, as you instructed. He goes to the mine every day with many others." "The scouts are sure they heard correctly?" "Yes." Tall Grass answered. "The agent Gordon told his followers the woman was dead and the mine was his. He said he had a paper." "This paper, did he use the words "court order?" Blaine persisted.


Winter felt his voice tighten, felt her own blood pressure begin to rise at Marsh Gordon's nerve. She hurriedly dressed, then moved closer to the tent flap. It was improper for a Cheyenne woman to take part in any conversation between men unless she was invited to speak and although she was not a Cheyenne woman, Winter knew her new position as wife of a chief made it necessary to obey tradition and remain silent. No matter how badly she wanted to question Tall Grass further. "Yes, those were his words," she heard Tall Grass answer in reference to Blaine's last question. "That scheming son-of-a-bitch!" Blaine swore in a low, savage tone. "I don't know why I'm surprised by this! It's no less than I expected from that worm!" "The warriors are waiting," Tall Grass said after a moment's silence. "What do you wish them to do?" "I think it's time Marsh Gordon had a visit," Blaine said with a hint of sardonic humor in his voice. "I also think it's time we had a closer look at that mine." His voice dropped to an inaudible level to give Tall Grass instructions while Winter strained to hear. Leaning toward the flap, she jumped back when Blaine finished his conversation with Tall Grass and came back into the lodge. Winter's eyes widened with surprise to see him once more dressed in his Indian attire. Her face warmed with the memory of the previous night's sensuality as her gaze slowly moved over his tall, copper frame. His long raven hair was tied back with a red beaded headband. On his upper arms were twin silver bands with intricate designs carved into the silver and studded with small turquoise stones. Beneath the breechcloth he wore deerskin leggings that clung to the firm muscles in his thighs,


accenting the lean grace in his long legs. Her gaze touched the healing wounds in his chest, then moved upward to the curious amusement on his handsome face. She felt her face fill with color but the strange, haunting warmth in his eyes took away her embarrassment. "Good morning," she said cheerfully. "Good morning," Blaine returned with a lazy smile. "Sorry if I woke you." His eyes moved slowly over her slender body beneath the loose-fitting Indian dress, lingering on the gentle swell of her breasts before lifting back to her face. "I'm more sorry that you're up and dressed. I had this wild idea that we'd sleep in this morning...if you know what I mean." Winter giggled as he pulled her into his arms. Their kiss quickly deepened into passion, but Winter refused to let her racing heart prevent her from getting the answers she needed about Marsh Gordon. "Just a minute, chief," she said in a shaky voice while pulling out of his embrace and putting both hands on his chest. "I want to know what Tall Grass was telling you about Marsh Gordon. And then," she added with a brilliant smile, "maybe I'll consider your pagan suggestion." "Pagan suggestion?" Blaine asked with feigned shock. "You didn't think it was so pagan last night. As I remember..." Winter giggled and kissed him lightly on the lips, then twisted away from his grasp when he moved to embrace her again. "I fully remember last night," she said with downcast eyes. "Every sensual, erotic, wonderful detail. And I have no qualms about repeating such a positively heathen act but first...I want to know about Marsh Gordon." Blaine sighed and nodded, smiling at the mixture of desire and seriousness in her face. "That's fair enough, I guess," he conceded as he


dropped onto the rumpled sleeping mat and crossed his legs beneath him. Winter wondered if he realized how unconsciously Cheyenne his movements were becoming. The contradiction between Blaine Dekker and Rising Sun was becoming more apparent with each passing day. Winter dared to wonder if there would come a day when Blaine Dekker ceased to exist but forced those thoughts to the back of her mind when Blaine began to explain about Gordon. "It seems that Gordon has had you declared legally dead," he said seriously. "Probably paid off some circuit judge for a court order giving him sole possession of the mine. He's started heavy mining during the past couple of days but as yet hasn't made a sizable strike." "Your Indian scouts gathered that much information by just watching him?" Winter asked in amazement. Blaine nodded, making his long hair shimmer in the morning light peeking into the lodge from the partially open flap. "My scouts are quite resourceful," he replied with a grin at the open-eyed wonder on her face. "Besides, most of them speak and understand English perfectly." "The nerve of that man!" Winter fumed while she paced the narrow confines of the lodge. She pounded one tightly balled fist into the palm of her other hand as she paced. Her face had become a mask of angry frustration that pinched her features and drew her brows into dark arches. "What can I do about it?" she asked after several silent moments of furious pacing. "I'm stuck here for God knows how long and that...that...that claim jumping scoundrel is mining my silver!" "I thought after last night you didn't mind being "stuck here" so much." Winter's gaze flashed to Blaine's face while she tried to decipher the


underlying meaning to his soft spoken words. He watched her quietly, almost amused. His face was very calm, his eyes cool. "I agreed to make the best of an impossible situation," she said defensively, infuriated that he could hide his real thoughts so totally. "Last night was wonderful, Blaine, but it doesn't help me stop Marsh Gordon from stealing my mine," she added as an afterthought. "Stopping Gordon is my job," Blaine said confidently as he rose to his feet with the easy grace of a mountain lion. "How can you?" Winter asked anxiously. "You're as much a prisoner here as I am. What can you do?" The cool sarcasm in his eyes surprised her when he glanced at her while digging a clean piece of paper and a pencil out of the saddlebags he had brought to the lodge the day before. "Sit down and write what I tell you," he said tightly, sticking the writing materials out to her. "And have a little faith in me, Winter. You know what they say about faith don't you? That it can move mountains?" His lips curled into a slight sneer at the uncertainty in Winter's face. "Well, my dear reluctant wife, Marsh Gordon is merely a molehill that I can crush with the heel of my boot." "Blaine, I didn't mean that I..." "I know exactly what you meant, Winter," Blaine interjected in that same deadly calm tone that struck a warning chime in Winter's mind. "Playing house with me is a pleasant diversion, but you're only marking time until you're free again. "Hell, I understand that. I know better than anybody how you hate being here. I had just hoped that...well, it doesn't matter. Let's stick to one matter at a time, shall we? Now, write what I tell you."


Winter watched him in total puzzlement until his dictation forced her mind to pay close attention. Writing furiously while he spoke, her lips slowly curled into a smile. The tension of only moments before was forgotten when she put down the pencil when he'd finished. She looked up at him curiously. "Do you think this will work?" "Of course it will," Blaine replied confidently. "Gordon's not the only one with access to a judge, you know. Once I explain the situation to the federal judge in Denver, I'm sure we'll have plenty of help in putting a cork in Gordon's mining enterprises, at least until he thinks of something else." "You said something to Tall Grass about paying Marsh a visit," Winter reminded him. "Just how do you plan to do that dressed like this?" Blaine glanced down at his leather-clad legs with a grin. The coolness in his eyes remained but his humor at Winter's curiosity held it at bay for the moment. "Winter, the only good thing about being half-white and half-Indian is that I can pass for either. I'm not going to see Gordon dressed like this, unless he ignores my first visit." "You also mentioned something about the mine? About checking it out again." Blaine nodded as he folded up the paper Winter had written and tucked it inside the waistband of the breechcloth. "There's something in that mine that Gordon is willing to kill for, something we're overlooking. I'm going to get inside and take a few ore samples of my own." "What if Two Feathers won't let you leave the village?" Winter asked anxiously. "There's no reason for him not to let me go and come as I wish," Blaine explained with a watchful glance at her face. "He knows I won't


go far or try to run away. He's got you for insurance; he knows I'll be back." "How long will you be away?" "A week, two at the most. Don't worry, Winter, Two Feathers won't let anything happen to you. If he does, all bets are off and he won't stand for that. Besides, my mother will take good care of you while I'm gone." The cheerfulness in his voice rankled Winter's nerves. Why shouldn't he be cheerful, she thought irritably. He's getting to leave this miserable existence, even if for a short time. She suddenly realized she was going to miss him dreadfully. He was right, of course, she would be fine with Half Moon for company and the new lodge to organize into a decent home. Still, she felt an unfamiliar loneliness creeping into her bones and wrapped her arms around herself despite the warmth of the bright June morning. "Blaine, I am sorry if I offended you earlier," she said lamely as she followed him from the lodge into the early morning bustle of the village. Small copper bodies ran about, whooping and yelling in childish voices. Camp dogs barked and horses whinnied in the distance toward the picket line beyond the village. Curious Indians paused as they passed by to watch the new chief and his bride, then went quickly on their way. Tall Grass waited outside the lodge, holding the reins to Blaine' s pinto pony, trying to look totally disinterested in them or their conversation. Blaine took the reins from the warrior, but paused before mounting to turn back to Winter. She could see the battle between his physical need for her and his injured pride


brought on by her remark earlier. Saw also the slight coolness in his manner, the careful veiling of his emotions behind those remarkable eyes as he studied her silently for a moment. "There's no need for an apology, Winter," he said finally with a faint softening in the lines around his mouth. "You can't help how you feel." He swung upon the frisky pinto and reined the animal around, trying to keep the pinto and the snow-white pony he'd given Winter the night before from exchanging curious sniffs. "But then, neither can I," he added mysteriously. With a rueful smile, he turned the pony's head and nudged him with his heels. Without a saddle or a proper riding bridle, the Indian pony responded instantly to Blaine's command and broke into a spirited gallop. Winter stood watching them disappear into the morning mist, wondering what he'd meant by that parting remark, then slowly shook her head in bafflement. Blaine was changing right before her eyes. Some of those changes were wonderful, like his tenderness the night before; his need to make certain she was safe. But other changes frightened her. Like the unconscious way he was slipping deeper and deeper into his Cheyenne background. He was speaking Cheyenne more and more, becoming more Indian than white without even being aware of the change. The only thing Winter knew for certain about Blaine Dekker while she watched him ride toward the west, was that she understood him enough to know she'd probably never understand him at all. *** There were few things in life that Blaine enjoyed more than the look of total shock on Marsh Gordon's face a few days later when he rode up


to the mine. Summer had brought clumps of wildflowers to the gulch below Ben Barrett's cabin. The array of yellow, blue, and pink blossoms seemed out of place here amid the crates of heavy equipment and mining tools. A new sluice stood dripping silvery pellets of water just below the opening of the mine. Blaine saw thousands of dollars worth of equipment and labor in the minutes he sat on the pinto waiting for Marsh to come out of the mine's bowels. Another man might have wondered where the money came from to finance such a undertaking, but Blaine didn't have to wonder. He knew it came from the shorted supplies of the Indians and the stolen assets of a dozen murdered miners. "Dekker!" Marsh Gordon exclaimed. He wiped his hands on a clean white handkerchief and neatly folded it before replacing it in his vest pocket. "What the devil are you doing here?" "Bringing you greetings from the state of Colorado, Gordon," was Blaine's cheerful reply as he handed Marsh an important-looking document, then settled back in the saddle to watch Gordon's face while he read it. "What the hell are you trying to pull, Dekker?" Marsh growled, looking up from the papers. "What gives you the right to do this?" "The same right you assumed when you took over Winter Barrett's mine without her knowledge or approval. You'll note, Gordon, that court order says you will cease all operation on these premises immediately. That means right now! And I'm here to see that this order is followed to the letter," Blaine answered pleasantly. "But...but. there's been no word from Winter for weeks!" Marsh protested weakly. His handsome face had paled, his forehead and upper lip had beaded with perspiration, which he wiped at


automatically with the slightly soiled handkerchief. "I assumed that she was dead! She was taken by those heathen Indians, for God's sake! There's no telling what they've done to her!" "Winter is quite well, thank you," Blaine replied smoothly, handing Marsh a slightly dog-eared note. "See for yourself." Marsh read Winter's note slowly, then read it again. His face paled, then flooded with color, then paled again. He wiped at his forehead absently and glared up at Blaine. "If she's so well-treated with the Cheyenne, why doesn't she just come home? Why are they holding her? What's this all about, Dekker? And don't tell me that you don't know!" "You read her note. She's visiting the Cheyenne on a personal matter. I'm sure you remember her quest to find that Cheyenne warrior, Gordon. She's looking for him, with the best wishes of Chief Two Feathers, I might add. She's well, she's doing what she wants, and most of all, she wants you out of her silver mine. Now!" "How do I know she actually wrote this?" Marsh asked suspiciously, peering up through the evening sun to glare at Blaine's amused face. "It convinced a federal judge. That's all you need to know. All right, Gordon, you've read the order. Now get your men off Mrs. Barrett's property." The pleasantness left Blaine's voice as an icy coldness took its place. Marsh stared at him silently for a moment, debating his alternatives. He had more men, of course, but he knew Dekker's reputation with a Colt. He had no desire for a first-hand demonstration, especially at close range. Besides, Dekker was a US Marshal and they didn't take kindly to having one of their own killed. No, there had to be another way, something legal. "All right, Dekker, I'll close down operation...for the time being,"


Marsh agreed tersely. "But don't think this is over. Not by a long shot. No, there's another way to deal with you and this absurd court order. "There's the United States Army, Dekker. I've been thinking about calling their attention to this Indian trouble anyway. What with a dozen men dead already at the hands of those blood-thirsty savages, I think the matter of kidnapping a young white woman should be thoroughly investigated. I'm sure General Conlon will be happy to check out my story." "Call in the army, Gordon. Call in the president, if you want. It won't change the fact that you're trespassing on Winter Barrett's private property. I've just served you with a federal court order to prevent any further violation of her rights," Blaine answered calmly. "If Winter's being violated, Dekker, I'm sure it's at the hands of some depraved savage in that rat's nest Cheyenne camp. I'll never understand why the government gave them a reservation in Colorado at all. They should be wiped out...to a man." "That's pretty strong talk for an Indian agent, Gordon," Blaine pointed out dryly. "Could be the governor'll be interested in how you feel about the people he's placed in your care. I'd be careful what I said about those blood thirsty savages, if I were you." Gordon's only reply was a muttered curse as he stomped away to give orders to his crew to shut down operations. Blaine waited peacefully on the pinto until everyone had left the mine and were on their way back to Gold River. Satisfied that Gordon and his men were gone, Blaine signaled toward the heavy growth of trees that lined the gully below the mine. Tall Grass and two other warriors emerged into the sunlight and took up sentry positions outside the mine's entrance while Blaine went inside with a


small spade and a leather bag. Moments later he returned and tied the ore samples onto his saddle. He mounted the wiry little animal, then turned back toward the plains, being careful to by-pass Gold River and any other settlement along the way. Riding with a saddle beneath him seemed almost strange after so many days riding bareback with only an Indian blanket between him and the horse's back. The snug-fitting denim trousers and long-sleeved cotton shirt seemed too constrictive, made him edgy, as if they cut off his breath. He'd be glad to see the Indian camp spring into view once more so he could get back into more comfortable clothes. But first, he had to get these ore samples tested. There was an independent assayer in Canon City that could answer some serious questions about Ben Barrett's silver. He felt certain the small bag of silver ore tied to his saddle held the key to not only Ben's death, but to the deaths of over a dozen other miners around Gold River in the past year. When he had the information he sought, then he could turn his thoughts back to the Cheyenne village and Winter. That thought made him urge the pinto into a spirited gallop. He suddenly felt the need to hurry.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

With Marsh Gordon at bay and the ore samples in safe hands, Blaine awaited the results. However, he was bitterly disappointed to learn that the samples had to be sent to Denver for analysis due to the


unexpected death of the assayer in Canon City from a flu epidemic that had swept the area in the spring. Knowing it might be as long as a couple of months for the samples to be properly analyzed, Blaine set about trying to teach the Cheyenne how to farm. It was a long, tedious process for the warriors showed little interest. It was only after Blaine s insistence and Two Feathers disgruntled instructions that the men of the village came to see what their new chief had to say. Winter stood quietly beside Half Moon, watching Blaine patiently explain how to hitch a horse to a plow and turn the prairie sod into workable land for raising food. The tools were part of the shipment of goods that had been sent from Denver with the army patrol, but had lain idle since because the Indian men had no interest in using them and even if they had, there was no one to teach them. "Woman's work!" the warrior known as Buffalo Horn grunted. "Not work for Cheyenne man!" Blaine turned toward the group of men. He let the plow drop lop-sided onto the ground as he straightened up. His body gleamed like finely polished copper in the mid-day sun, his eyes darkened with impatience and, Winter was surprised to see, a thinly veiled contempt. "Not work for Cheyenne man, huh?" Blaine jeered. "Just what is man's work, Buffalo Horn?" The slightly over-weight warrior took the bait, folding his arms over his chest confidently. "Hunting, fishing, making war on our enemies...is man's work. Digging in ground like mole is job for woman!" "It's that kind of attitude that has put the Cheyenne in the mess they're in right now!" Blaine said. His voice was filled with disgust, his brows drawn together into a frown, yet Winter sensed a strange kind of amusement in his manner, as though the warrior had said exactly what


Blaine had hoped he would. "Look around you, Buffalo Horn, all of you! How many buffalo do you see? When was the last hunt you went on?" "Many summers ago," an older warrior said from the group. "Most of the younger men have never been on a buffalo hunt," Blaine went on after surveying the group. "The last big hunt was the summer before the people were taken to the reservation in Oklahoma. The great herds are gone! They will not return as you hope, Buffalo Horn. The time of relying on the buffalo for our needs is long past. The Cheyenne must learn new ways if we are to survive! "As for fishing and hunting, that's fine...as long as the game holds out and the streams jump with fish. But most of the game is already gone and I haven't seen you out trying to catch fish for your family in days, Buffalo Horn," Blaine said contemptuously as he moved closer to the man. "You've grown fat and lazy. You let your woman provide for your family," he added with a jab into the man's large stomach with a stiff forefinger. The other men chuckled aloud, whispering among themselves for a moment, agreeing with Blaine's observations about Buffalo Horn. Blaine met the warrior's hostile eyes calmly. He knew Buffalo Horn was one of Shadow Dancer's allies, knew the man was behind most of the opposition among the tribe's male population to his new methods. This was an opportunity to prove his point to the entire tribe, make them see the need to learn new ways. "And making war on our enemies? Can't you see what making war on the whites has done to the Cheyenne? We were once a great nation, now we are reduced to half that number. Many young men died in the uprising in 1862, many more died on the way to the Oklahoma reservation. The Cheyenne are once more on their own land, home on the old hunting grounds, but there is no longer game to hunt. We must


learn new ways...or die." "I am not afraid of the whites!" Buffalo Horn said fiercely. "Nor are the others," Blaine said in a softer tone, looking around the group of men, noting their nods of agreement. "It is not a question of courage, Buffalo Horn, but of intelligence. Last winter you heard your children cry from hunger. This winter they will cry again and many of them will die if you do not learn to grow food to fill their empty stomachs." "The children cry because the agent Gordon cheats our people and we do nothing!" Buffalo Horn argued stubbornly. "It is time the Cheyenne took what was promised to us." "The Cheyenne were promised tools and seed," Blaine answered patiently. His irritation relaxed a bit for he could see the majority of the men were listening attentively. "We were promised blankets to get us through the first winter, until we learned to grow our own food and provide for ourselves. True, Gordon has cheated the people. He has stolen our supplies and sold them to the miners, but he will be dealt with. He has not gotten away with his crimes against the Cheyenne. I give you my solemn word that he will be punished. But he will be punished by the white man, not by the Cheyenne. "The Cheyenne were allowed to come back to our land because we promised to keep the peace. We gave our word. Perhaps the white man has not kept his word completely, but that is not the fault of the white man's government. It is the fault of one white man...the agent Gordon. That is not reason for the people to rise up in a war that will wipe out the Cheyenne." "You speak of the Cheyenne as your people," Buffalo Horn said sarcastically. "You were not with the people when we were taken away like slaves. You were not starved in Oklahoma. You were not here last winter to hear our children cry."


"No, I wasn't here," Blaine agreed. "But that was not my choice." Winter saw his eyes scan the gathering until they came to rest on his grandfather's weathered face. A chill of alarm spread through her at the soft fury in his voice when he turned his attention back to the warriors. "But I have suffered with the rest of the Cheyenne. I have felt your shame, and your hunger. I have heard your children cry. I wasn't here for a long time, but I'm here now. I'm here to teach you to farm, to raise enough food to feed your children through the long winters so they will never cry again from hunger. "I'm here to show you the new ways. It won't be easy, but you must learn to live in the white man's world. If you want to survive and see your children live to be men someday...you must learn to farm, to provide for your families in new ways. Because the old ways are gone forever." When he finished speaking, a long silence hung in the air. The men looked at each other, whispering among themselves. The women stood silently waiting to hear what their men would say. Even the children were unusually quiet. Winter watched Blaine's quiet, impassive face, wondering how much of his passionate speech had been meant to convince the council of his sincerity and how much of it he really felt. She glanced around at the sea of copper faces with a renewed feeling of disgust and contempt. They were being offered the chance for a new life, yet they preferred to cling to old ways and old pride. She hoped their pride would fill their stomachs when winter came. Two Feathers moved to the front of the gathering and folded his arms over his chest. "My grandson speaks the truth," he said solemnly in a weathered, cracked voice. "It will be as he says."


A murmur of assent ran through the men. Finally Tall Grass stepped forward to inspect the plow at closer range. Within seconds many of the other men followed suit, leaving only Buffalo Horn standing alone. Blaine exchanged hostile glances with the man, then a short fat Indian woman went from the group of women to Buffalo Horn's side and gave him a short nudge in the side. Chagrin covered the warrior's broad face when the woman spoke to Blaine. "Filling children's stomach is not woman's work, Rising Sun," she said in Cheyenne. She glanced up at her husband, then back to Blaine. "It is man's job to feed family. My husband will learn your new ways." Blaine nodded and turned away before the grin starting to curl his lips could be seen. Buffalo Horn had been shamed enough, he decided. Having your wife speak out against you in public was far from common and he knew Buffalo Horn's wife would hear about it as soon as they were alone. But, he decided, glancing at the short fat woman who stared at her husband with flat, determined eyes, any argument had already been settled. Buffalo Horn might not like it, but he was about to learn how to farm. "You certainly handled that well," Winter whispered to Blaine while the men and women huddled around the iron plow inspecting its sharp edge. "I've heard politicians who couldn't make speeches that convincing." "It wasn't just a speech, Winter. It's the truth." Blaine nodded toward the Indians, then looked back to Winter's tanned face. These last few weeks living on the plains had turned her naturally alabaster complexion to a golden brown that glowed with health and vitality. The hard life of an Indian woman had trimmed her body also. Her


body had taken on the well-muscled tone of a woman grown accustomed to carrying firewood and digging roots. Her long chestnut hair was braided in two long strands down her back and tied with a piece of leather at the ends. To the casual observer, she was as Indian as any woman in the village, lean and trim with a regal carriage and a fire in her eyes when she looked at Blaine that rivaled any Cheyenne woman's affection for her husband. Her new-found dignity was a result in part of the respect for her position as the wife of a chief. The other women treated her with respect, often deferring to her to speak first at a gathering, and always listening attentively to whatever she had to say. For the first time in her life, Winter was receiving the respect and courtesy she had long been denied. It was a good feeling; much like the first feelings of self-esteem she'd experienced upon taking the job as hostess in Rita's Place. It gave her such a feeling of confidence she often had to remind herself that these illiterate, uncivilized women would show the same respect to anyone who married the grandson of a great chief. It had little to do with her as a person, only with her position. Still, Winter enjoyed the position, telling herself that it was only part of the game she was playing; a role to please the elders until they would set her free. "Look at them, Winter," Blaine said to her now, indicating the group of curious, skeptical Indians around the plow. "They're like children. God, they're so pathetic! They could starve to death right in the middle of a land capable of supplying all their needs! They hang onto the old ways because they don't know anything else and they're too damned proud to admit they need help!" "They've lived a thousand years by hunting buffalo and taking whatever else they've needed from their enemies," Winter said quietly. "Change comes hard to all of us, Blaine. And harder to some than others."


Blaine's eyes searched her gaze, wondering just what she meant. It was obvious that there was more to her statement than appeared on the surface. Winter met his gaze evenly, without blinking or looking away until he suddenly smiled and wrapped a long bronze arm around her waist. "You've learned how to do that very well," he said pleasantly. "What?" Winter asked innocently. "Look at me without letting your eyes wander. Much like my mother does. I've never learned to be comfortable with a woman that can look me straight in the eye." "I've surely learned something from all this time with the Cheyenne, my handsome chief," Winter returned smugly while she leaned into his embrace. "After all, haven't I had the best teacher available?" Blaine smiled at the suggestive smile on her lips, then his face sobered when he looked back at his followers. "It's simple to teach someone who's interested in learning," he said seriously. "Teaching them to farm is quite a different matter." "I'm sure you'll have them raising cane in no time at all," Winter said, then began to giggle at her joke. "I'll settle for corn and potatoes," Blaine replied with a smile. "Cane is the last thing I need for them to raise. I'm having enough trouble keeping them from going off with Red Fox to the war council." Winter studied the concern in his face and squeezed him to her side. He looked tired, she realized. Tired and worried. There were new lines around his eyes that hadn't been there just days before, a new uneasiness in him that even their passion-filled nights couldn't totally erase from his mind.


"Red Fox is still insisting on a war council?" she asked quietly. Blaine nodded absently, his gaze still on the curious warriors milling around the plow. They touched the sharp edge hesitantly, pulling their hands back in surprise at the touch of the sharp steel. Grunting thoughtfully, they circled the instrument and inspected the twin handles curiously. Blaine shook his head while he watched them and drew a long, ragged breath. "One spark is all it'll take, Winter, to start a blood-bath that will destroy both the Arapaho and the Cheyenne, but convincing Red Fox is like talking to a stone wall." "Isn't there something the government can do?" "Sure, they can send in the army like they did in '62." "No, I mean isn't there something they can do to head off trouble before it goes that far?" Winter said patiently. "Yeah, they can remove Marsh Gordon from his position and put somebody in it that will do what the treaty agreed to do, but they won't because there's no evidence of any wrong-doing. "Gordon signs for the shipments of supplies and has detailed records of how they were given to the Indians, dates, times, places, names...the whole story. Except that it's all a lie; those supplies are going straight to the miners. The Indians never see them." "So what happens now?" "If Red Fox convinces the rest of the Arapaho to retaliate, the Cheyenne will be drawn into a war whether they want one or not. We've been allies too long now to think we can escape it. Plus there's talk of the Comanche and Kiowa and the Shoshone lending support."


Winter shuddered and drew closer to his warmth. "That could mean thousands of Indians," she whispered worriedly. "A full scale Indian war. The results would be too awful to even think about. All that killing over a few supplies..." "It isn't the supplies, Winter," Blaine interjected wearily. "It's a matter of pride, hundreds of years of pride. The Indians have been cheated, lied to, treated like insects that get in the way. They've taken abuse from our government for years; broken treaties, slick merchants like Gordon who've exploited them for personal gain. They can't be expected to take it without at least considering the idea of fighting back." "Even if that means their extermination?" Winter asked quietly. "As well as the deaths of hundreds of innocent people?" "That's why it's necessary for cool heads to speak at the war council. To point out the other side of the coin," Blaine answered. Winter twisted in the circle of his arm to stare up into his lean copper face. "You're going, aren't you? To the war council?" Blaine nodded as he looked back at her concerned features with a grim smile. "I have to go, Winter, I don't have any choice. Two Feathers is old and sick. He isn't able to make such a trip and someone has to speak against war." "Why does it have to be you?" An affectionate smile warmed Blaine's mouth at the concern on Winter's face. "That's part of the reason I'm here, remember? To head off a war if I can." "How long will you be gone?" Winter asked in a hollow-sounding voice. She looked away to avoid his searching eyes, afraid he'd see the emptiness that filled her with the prospect of being alone.


"A couple of weeks at least. These things take time. When that many chiefs get together they spend days just talking about the good old days," Blaine said with a wry smile. "It takes days just to get around to the real business they've met to discuss." He studied her downcast eyes and drew her closer into the circle of his arm, warmed by her attitude at being without him. "However, this time I won't go alone." Instantly Winter's bright gaze swung to lock on his face, narrowing at the humorous inflection in his tone. "And just who is going to accompany my chieftain husband on this trip to save the world?" she couldn't resist asking sarcastically, then quickly bit her lip, humiliated that she had let her insecurities show. "My beautiful pagan wife," Blaine replied with a small chuckle at her obvious discomfort. "Several of the elders and their families will make the trip to Red Fox's camp. I see no reason why my wife can't go along." Winter fidgeted at the serious expression that appeared on his face and drew out of his embrace. "Don't you think we're taking this marriage too seriously?" she asked finally. "I mean, it isn't real, it's only a role we're playing to pacify the council until you've gained their complete confidence." She felt the instant tightening in Blaine's arm around her shoulders and looking up into his face, saw the muscles twitching in both lean jaws. Then he looked down to meet her anxious gaze with insolent amusement dancing in his eyes. "Excuse me, I forgot myself for a moment," he told her in a cynical tone. "I rather thought all those nights rolled up together in a blanket, making love like two starving hounds with a meaty bone made us something more than polite acquaintances." "Of course we're more than that," Winter said sharply as her temper


rose at his sarcastic remark. "Much more than that. But we're hardly married, Blaine. Not really, not in the eyes of the church." "How about in the eyes of God?" Blaine challenged. The emotion in his voice took him by surprise, embarrassed him. He quickly looked away from Winter's puzzled face, reminding himself that he was just tired and feeling the pressure of his position. "I'm quite sure God understands why we're playing out these ridiculous roles!" "Ridiculous roles? Oh, for God's sake, Winter, it takes more than a piece of paper to make a real marriage!" Blaine retorted, unaware of how his rising voice was attracting attention. "Perhaps so, but it certainly takes more than exchanging gifts with an old savage who's living a hundred years in the past!" Winter said through clenched teeth as she spun out of his arm and stalked toward their lodge. Blaine started to call after her, then realized how quiet the others had become and swallowed the angry retort that burned his tongue. He forced a lungfull of fresh air into his chest and turned to begin instructing the waiting warriors on the mechanics of hooking a breaking plow to a mule. He had won the respect of his peers with his own blood; he couldn't afford to lose it because of a stubborn, ill-tempered woman. He'd deal with Winter's irrational behavior later. Privately, where the entire tribe couldn't witness the fight that he was certain would ensue. *** Winter furiously banged her pots, stirring the rabbit stew so savagely that it sloshed over the edge of the blackened pot into the smoldering cooking fire and filled the twilight with the smell of burning food.


Brushing her long braids out of the way, she glanced up and down the double row of lodges. Blaine was nowhere in sight. She supposed he was off somewhere with the other young men smoking that ridiculous pipe they passed around, and thinking she was here alone, wondering where he was. Well, that showed how much he knew about her, she thought angrily while she dumped another handful of small sticks onto the fire. If that conceited, arrogant man wanted to think she was upset over the disgusting things he'd said, he would just be surprised. Looking up once more, she caught sight of him coming down the path toward their lodge. In spite of her resolve, her heart began to race at the sight of his lean, muscular frame striding confidently between the lodges as if he didn't have a care in the world. It infuriated her to see how easily he'd dismissed their angry words. Then her eyes widened with surprise when a young Indian woman stepped from the gathering shadows and approached him. Blaine halted in the path to speak to the woman while Winter's blood began to boil. It was that shameless Raven's Wing again! No one else would so boldly approach a warrior in public, especially a chief, and a married one at that! Winter mentally calculated the number of times this very same thing had occurred in the past couple of weeks, furious to realize that almost every evening the young maiden had stopped Blaine on his way home with some flimsy excuse or other. Well, that little hussy wasn't fooling her, Winter told herself furiously. They were only fifty feet away, close enough for her to see the sly, suggestive looks the girl was giving Blaine, and the way she sidled up to him so she could look adoringly up into his face while she talked. Winter could plainly see the girl shyly reach out to touch his arm while her eyes openly adored him. It was enough to make her sick!


But he certainly didn't seem to mind, she thought angrily while she stared at them. He just stood there with that serious, thoughtful expression on his handsome face, eating up every word she said, soaking up her attention like a dry sponge. Well, she had a few things to tell him about that when he got home! Not that Raven's Wing wasn't beautiful. She had hip-length coal-black hair that shimmered in the late evening sunlight and a beautiful, sensual face that was enough to stop traffic on Gold River's main street on Saturday afternoon. Even in the loose, shapeless deerskin dress that hung just below her knees, her firm, lithe body drew the attention of every man she passed. And the little vixen loved it, Winter thought spitefully. Wasn't it enough that every unmarried man in the village, as well as half the married ones, drooled each time she came near? Did she have to entice Blaine as well? Blaine spoke to the girl, then continued on his way. Winter watched him approach with mixed emotions. Half of her was so glad to see him she wanted to run to meet him and throw her arms around him while the other half wanted to scratch his eyes out. Knowing that Raven's Wing was still standing in the path looking after him, Winter left the cooking fire and hurried to meet him. She swung into step beside him and wound her arm through his, drawing herself close to his side and looking up at him adoringly. "Hello, my husband," she called out, loudly enough to make sure that the young girl heard her. "I'm so glad you're home. I've missed you so this afternoon. Are you hungry? I've prepared your evening meal, just the way you like. I'll serve you as soon you make yourself comfortable." Blaine stared down at her adoring face with arched brows. This certainly wasn't the welcome he'd expected. "What's gotten into you?" he asked cheerfully as he gave one of her braids a playful tug. "Whatever it is, I like it."


"As much as you like Raven's Wing?" Winter inquired cynically. Disappointment flared briefly in his eyes, then was instantly replaced with that cool impassiveness that Winter hated so much. "I see," he said stonily as he met her angry eyes. "This is all for Raven's Wing, is it? Any special reason?" "You know exactly why," Winter snapped. "Every evening for nearly two weeks that young trollop has found some excuse to stop you on your way home. Whatever happened to a young Cheyenne woman's chastity? What happened to it being highly improper for a maiden to speak publicly to a married man?" "Oh, but according to you, my dear wife, we aren't married, remember?" Blaine reminded her with a teasing grin. Seeing why Winter was upset, it was a struggle for him to keep from laughing. Winter drew her breath in sharply when she realized he thought her anger was humorous. She attempted to yank her arm free and flounce off into the lodge but Blaine anticipated her actions by grasping her hand firmly. He ignored her squeal of protest as he hoisted her to one shoulder and carried her, kicking and thrashing, into the lodge where he deposited her on his sleeping mat, then turned to close the tent flap. "What do you think you're doing?" Winter screeched from the floor. She sat on her fanny with both hands spread out behind her to support her upper body, glaring at him. "Why, you issued an invitation to your husband returning from a hard day's work," Blaine answered innocently. He stood over her, slowly removing his leggings, then the solitary cord that held the breechcloth in place around his waist. Winter stared up at him. The indignation drained from her face, replaced by a slow-building desire that made her eyes begin to gleam and her breath to come in short gasps.


"I'm merely taking you up on your suggestion," Blaine said in a low, husky voice when he stood naked before her. "That's not what I meant." "No? Too bad, that's what I meant," Blaine said with a grin as he sank to the floor beside her and gathered her into his arms. "What about Raven's Wing?" Winter murmured against his mouth just before he kissed her. "She means nothing to me, don't you know that? There's been no other woman for me since the first time I saw you on that stagecoach." Blaine's soft words were punctuated with soft, moist kisses all over her face. "Then why do let her speak to you like that?" Winter persisted breathlessly. "What am I supposed to do, ignore her? I'm a chief, Winter, it's my duty to listen to my people. Even a moon-struck girl." "Fiddlesticks! You enjoy her throwing herself at you! You know you do, there's no use denying it!" "You're jealous!" he said with a smothered chuckle. His lips pressed to her breasts as he tugged the loose-fitting dress up over her head and pitched it aside. Winter made no effort to stop him, but closed her eyes with a soft moan when his mouth found her bare flesh and began to suck gently at the coral tips of her swollen breasts, "I am not jealous," she protested weakly as she slid down the sleeping mat beneath him.


"Are too jealous," he whispered between gentle nips at her jutting nipples. His strong brown hands slid down her damp body, leaving a trail of fire behind as he explored every hollow and valley of her supple form. "This isn't fair," Winter murmured dreamily as she lay back on the mat and gave herself up to the demands of her body. "This is no way to win an argument." "It's the best way I know of," Blaine said in a husky, passionate voice as he slid between her firm thighs and buried himself in the hot wetness of her. Winter's brown legs wound around his back, her nails cut into his shoulders. The gnawing hunger deep inside her built to a screaming conclusion with each plunging thrust of his lean, powerful body until she cried out his name and arched spasmodically beneath him. Holding him tightly as he reached his own release, Winter curled into the circle of his arms with a contented sigh. She traced tiny imaginary designs on his gleaming copper chest, watching him relax against her damp body. Then she remembered his supper and jumped up. Throwing on her dress, she hurried outside and yanked the cooking pot off the fire, peering inside anxiously to see if the stew was ruined. Deciding it was eatable, she glanced up to see Raven's Wing outside her own lodge watching her. Unable to resist the possessive smile that curled her lips, Winter put the pot aside and straightened her dress with exaggerated motions to make sure the girl knew she had just made love with Blaine. Looking back, she saw that Raven's Wing had vanished. Giggling happily, Winter carried the stew into the lodge.


CHAPTER THIRTY- THREE

The place chosen for the war council was many days journey southeast, deep in the heart of Comanche territory. Once deadly enemies, the Cheyenne and Comanche had been on friendlier terms for several years, resulting in part from their common problems with the white man. Winter learned what it meant to travel light on the journey to meet with their allies. In spite of her hatred for the Cheyenne, she was impressed by the ingenious method of moving a complete camp on horseback, over rough terrain quickly and efficiently with a minimum of discussion. Besides herself and Blaine, Tall Grass and his family, half a dozen other warriors and their families, and the tribal head priest with all the tools of his trade made the trip east. Moving swiftly and in complete silence, they arrived at the appointed spot within a week, although the journey covered more than two hundred fifty miles. By-passing all settlements and using arrows instead of rifles to hunt game, they managed to avoid any trouble with the swarms of miners and settlers that had flooded into the area, littering the countryside with the remnants of their frantic search for instant fortune. Shortly before arriving at the appointed spot, Winter twisted in her saddle and cleared her throat to get Blaine's attention. Riding bareback was the custom for Indian women but Winter's insistence on using a saddle brought only a wry grin from Blaine, prompting him to give her


the use of his own saddle. Studying him through thick lashes, Winter sighed and cleared her throat once more. Irritation wrinkled her brows when it became obvious that he had not heard her. Finally she reached out and touched his arm to make him notice her. Even more irritating than being ignored was his surprised jerk when she touched him. Looking apologetic, he looked at her finally. "What did you say, Winter?" Winter stifled the snort of irritation crowding her throat as she forced a small smile. "I hadn't said anything yet. I was trying to get your attention so I could." "I'm sorry," Blaine sighed tiredly. He lifted one hand to run through his long ebony mane, then reached across the space separating them as they rode abreast through the warm, sticky morning air to touch her cheek. "I don't mean to be so preoccupied, Winter, but I've got a lot on my mind." "I know that," Winter said with a warmer smile. She studied the lines around his mouth, saw the tiredness in his face from being constantly alert during this trip. He didn't look as though he'd had more than two hours sleep since they'd left the village a week before. Winter had seen him tired before, seen him hurt, seen him angry, but she'd never seen him so worn and fatigued. It made her ashamed of her impatience. "What was it you wanted to tell me?" Blaine asked in an attempt to make up for his neglect during the past few days on the trail. "Something earth-shaking, I'll bet." Winter's expression was so serious and thoughtful that the smile on his lips quickly faded. That expression spelled trouble, he thought warily as


he settled back on the pinto pony to await her to explanation. "Don't look so nervous," Winter chided with a smile at the instant suspicion that sprang to his face. "It's nothing terrible; in fact, I think it's something you may even approve of, once you've heard my idea." "I can't wait," Blaine said dryly. Animation filled her face. Her eyes began to sparkle, her hands to gesture as they always did when she was excited. "Actually you gave me the idea," she told him eagerly. "The other day when you were talking to the men about learning new ways to survive. Remember?" Following his patient nod, she wet her lips and went on. "If the Cheyenne are going to survive in this new environment, they're going to have to learn much more than farming. They've got to learn how to make products to sell, to the miners maybe, in exchange for other goods, like blankets and cooking pots and the like. The government doesn't supply all their needs, even if Marsh Gordon was doing his job well, so they're still going to need all sorts of things. "Well, if the Cheyenne are going to succeed in this new way of life, the first thing they must learn is how to communicate. The biggest reason the Indian has been taken advantage of in the past is because he doesn't understand the language. I propose to change that." "How?" Winter was pleased at the serious attention Blaine was giving her. He was listening carefully to everything she said, often nodding in agreement. She paused for a breath, then wet her lips again. "By doing the very same thing my parents did; opening a school for the children. The adults could come too, but I realize it would be very difficult to convince them. But the children, Blaine. If the children learn to read and write and speak English they can help their parents communicate. Eventually the barriers of ignorance would be broken down and the Cheyenne would have intelligent, productive leaders to take part in


negotiations with white leaders and make informed decisions for the people. Well, what do you think?" "I think that's a very generous observation for a woman who hates Indians. In fact, I'm very surprised that you'd even think of something like this, Winter." "Just because I hate them doesn't mean I want to see them taken advantage of because of their ignorance," Winter replied matter of factly. She stared at him in silence for a moment, then dropped her head as she directed her eyes to some point on the distant horizon. "I remember what it meant to my mother and father when they helped an Indian child learn to read or say his name in English. I remember how they hoped they could make a difference in even one child's life. They said if even one child was helped toward a more productive life by something they did that all the hardships and difficulty would be worth it." Then, lifting her head, she faced Blaine again. "And it's obvious that in spite of what happened to them, that they did make a difference, to at least one Indian boy," she added in a warmer tone. "In what way?" She regarded him seriously. He stared at her curiously, waiting for her explanation, yet Winter was certain he already knew what she meant. "That Indian boy grew up to become a great leader who understood that the Cheyenne must adapt to a white man's world or be destroyed. That they must find new ways to replace the old, to replace war with lasting peace. That the future lies in raising new leaders who will be able to make informed, intelligent decisions based on fact, not on hocus-pocus from the spirit world." "And you want to be a part of that new generation of Cheyenne?" Blaine asked cautiously.


"I want to do something that my parents would be proud of," Winter answered evenly. "Something to prove they didn't die for nothing; that what they believed in, what they died for, meant something. That it was worth the sacrifice." "Do you mind telling me what's brought about this sudden interest in the welfare of the Cheyenne?" Blaine asked, surprising Winter by the coolness in his voice. She stared at him, puzzled by the distance she sensed between them suddenly. She had thought he'd be pleased by her idea, even enthusiastic. Instead, she saw the muscles in his lean face twitch with irritation while his eyes filled with fleeting bitterness. "I-I-thought that you'd be pleased," she stammered after a moment. "I thought you'd approve. I mean...you want to help your people...you're trying so hard to teach them how to survive in this world. You're here now trying to keep them out of a war that could destroy them." "You think I'm doing all this because of some age old obligation to them?" Blaine replied scornfully. "I don't understand," Winter ventured uneasily. She felt alarmed without really knowing why. The scorn that turned his cobalt eyes black and curled his lips into thin lines of contempt unnerved her slightly. "I'm doing this because I'm a goddamned prisoner," he snapped. "Because my grandfather is a wise old bastard who knows more about me than I know about myself. He knows just which button to push to bring me to my knees, which string to pull to keep me there." "That explains why you came back, Blaine, not why you're trying to help them," Winter pointed out nervously. "You came back to your grandfather because of me, I know that. But you've changed; you care about those people, about what happens to them."


"They're so goddamned pathetic!" Blaine replied angrily. "I feel sorry for them, that's all!" Winter doubted seriously if that was all, but their arrival at the meeting place prevented further discussion. She bit her bottom lip as she stared at Blaine silently while their party was greeted by their Comanche hosts. In spite of his confusing denial about his feelings for the Cheyenne, she knew that once he'd had time to think about it, he would agree to give it a try. His people had become much too important to him in the past few weeks not to take advantage of every opportunity to improve their lives. *** The spot chosen for the meeting was on the Purgatoire River deep inside Comanche territory. A few miles to the north lay Bent's Fort, famous in the early 1840's for its fair-minded trading with the local Indians, but the Comanche had deliberately avoided the vicinity of the fort. For one reason, all firewood had long been used for construction and for another, the grass was grazed to the ground. But farther downstream lay a valley that widened into a broad plain on either side of the river with groves of cottonwood trees and willow. It was an ideal campsite with plenty of space and with ample supplies of water, wood, and grass for the herds of horses brought by the various tribes as gifts to one another. The Comanche served as hosts because this was their land. They had chosen the council ground with care and were careful to greet their guests warmly. Still, Blaine felt a chill of apprehension upon entering the camp. This was a barren land, covered with sagebrush and prickly-pear cactus, and differing a great deal from the lush green plains of central Colorado where the Cheyenne had made their home for hundreds of years.


Blaine's apprehension was caused by the years of hostility between the Cheyenne and the Comanche. After so many years of bad feeling, entering once deadly enemies' camps made the hair at the back of his neck rise warily. So much could go wrong, even at a peace council. The Cheyenne party made their camp in a circle on the west bank of the Purgatoire, with a break in the circle toward the east, facing the rising sun. A few yards away the Arapaho made their own camp, also on the west bank of the river. On the opposite side of the Purgatoire stood the tents of the Comanche and the Kiowas, their northern neighbors. Some had come as far as six hundred miles for this council, indicating how serious the tribes were about going to war. Winter swore softly under her breath while she struggled to raise her lodge into place on the bank of the river. The Cheyenne women had raised their tents quickly and gone in search of firewood along the river bank, leaving Winter to fend for herself. She knew their lack of manners was unintentional, that they assumed she was capable of doing it without assistance, but that was little comfort while she sweated under the broiling July sun. When the center poles fell in a clattering heap for the third time, she kicked the hard-baked ground furiously with one small moccasined foot and rubbed at her eyes to keep the sweat from running into them. A shadow fell over her, then she heard a soft chuckle over her shoulder. "What's wrong, Winter? Can't get it up?" Blaine asked in a teasing tone. In spite of her discomfort and frustration, Winter began to smile as he dropped to his heels beside her and tugged at one long chestnut braid. "One could never say that about you, could one?" she asked impishly. "Not lately at any rate," Blaine answered with a grin. Then his gaze


shifted to the dismal array of lodge poles and canvas. "Looks like you can use some help." He got to his feet and began to put the center poles into place and lash them tightly together. Within moments, when the structure was in position, he shook out the canvas and laid it around the circumference of the lodge. Winter sat wide-eyed on the ground, watching in amazement at the ease with which he raised the dwelling. "Isn't this women's work?" she asked after a moment. "Isn't it beneath the dignity of a chief to put up tents and such female things?" "Nothing is beneath the dignity of a chief if he wants to do it," Blaine replied with an amused glance at her flushed face. Winter stared at him, marveling at the animal-like grace of his movements. There was not one wasted movement, not one moment of thought. Blaine had the lodge raised and fully prepared in twenty minutes flat without any help and without hardly raising a sweat. The mid-day sun was broiling hot in a clear, cloudless sky. Even the cactus looked wilted in the heat. Yet Blaine did not show any signs of strain except for the tiredness in his face. His lean body gleamed like polished copper. The biceps in his upper arms bulged around the silver bands with the small turquoise stones. Winter felt the familiar stirrings of desire that always resulted from looking at his powerful body. He had always been splendidly built but the hard physical labor of the past few weeks had trimmed him even more. There was not one ounce of fat on his body, only rock-hard muscle and sinew. Even though he appeared to have lost weight, Winter knew it was only the tightening of already firm muscles. He had shaved his mustache that first day in the village, as well as the silky dark hair that had covered his chest, but Winter realized it was


growing back. "Are you going to let your mustache grow back?" she asked suddenly. Blaine's dark head snapped up to look at her curiously as he fastened the lodge flap into place. "No, not now anyway. Why?" "The hair on your chest is growing back so I just wondered," Winter replied nonchalantly from her perch on the ground. Blaine self-consciously ran one hand over his chest and grinned slightly. "Yeah, I guess it is at that. Does it bother you?" "Of course not!" Winter hastened to assure him. "Isn't it just a bit unusual for an Indian chief to have a hairy chest?" "I suppose so, but then I'm not your everyday, run-of-the-mill chief, am I?" Watching her head move in a negative motion of agreement, he stood back to look over his finished lodge. "Besides, it kinda makes me stand out in the crowd, doesn't it?" "You'd stand out in any crowd, no matter if you were bald," Winter giggled with an appreciative glance at his body. Blaine smiled, then his face grew serious. "I've been thinking about your suggestion, Winter. About the school? And if you want to try it, I'm willing to give it a chance." Winter smiled as she rose to her feet to approach him. Placing one small tanned hand on his arm, she smiled up at him. "You won't be sorry, Blaine, I promise." "Why, Winter?" he asked quietly while his gaze searched her face. "Why has this become so important to you?" "It's like you said, Blaine. I'm a prisoner too. And since I am, I don't


see any reason why that time shouldn't be spend doing something worthwhile. Maybe some good can come of all this, if we try hard enough." Brief disappointment flared in the depths of Blaine's eyes before he looked away. When his gaze met hers again it was gone, replaced by a cool indifference that puzzled Winter. "Sure, if we try hard enough," he grunted. Then he smiled and the chill was gone. "And speaking of something worthwhile, what do you say to an afternoon swim? Just look at that water. I'll bet it's cool and refreshing and..." "What about the council?" Winter inquired mischievously. "Don't you have some chiefly duties to perform?" "Nothing that can't wait until later. Come on, we'll go downstream a ways to a nice, private spot and take a long swim. Just you and me." "I like the way you think, chief," Winter giggled as she danced backward. "Race you to the river!" she called over her shoulder as she ran toward the inviting blue water. *** Marsh Gordon nodded in recognition as the tall man with a drooping black mustache sauntered through the Hog's Head Saloon and headed toward him. The man wore double gunbelts crossed on his sides, with the guns slung low and menacing. He was definitely of Spanish decent with oily olive skin and small black eyes that glittered in the garish lights hanging from the rafters in the crude building. "Senor Gordon?" the man asked with a heavy Spanish accent. "Ah, Mr. Morales, I presume," Marsh said, indicating a chair at his table.


"Thank you for coming so promptly." senor "I always come to the smell of money, senor Gordon," Morales said with a grin that revealed small, ferret-like teeth beneath the heavy mustache. He dropped into the chair and accepted the glass of whiskey that Marsh poured from the bottle in front of him. "What can I do for you, senor Gordon?" "It's more what we can do for each other, Mr. Morales," Marsh replied with a small cough of distaste for his visitor. The Mexican had not bathed in weeks from the pungent aroma coming from his side of the table and his clothes were dirty and sweat stained. His wide-brimmed sombrero was covered with years of dirt and grime, his knee-high leather moccasin-like boots scuffed and badly worn with most of the fringe missing. "I understand that you're in the bounty business." Morales nodded, making the sombrero bob comically. He gulped down the glass of whiskey and eyed the bottle until Marsh took the hint and refilled his glass. "Si, senor Gordon. Although I like to think of myself as a specialist." "So I hear," Marsh agreed. "I understand you like to kill Indians." A wide grin spread across Morales' greasy features as he nodded again enthusiastically. "Si. I am a great hunter." His face sobered and a hateful gleam came into his black eyes. "I made much money until the government lifted its bounty on Indian scalps. Now," he added with a shrug. "I do not make so much money." "What I propose, Mr. Morales, is a private bounty. For two very special individuals," Marsh said, smiling inwardly at the greed that leaped to the man's small, beady eyes. "Are you interested?"


Morales nodded his interest and leaned back in his chair to hear Marsh's proposal. Satisfied that he had hooked the bounty hunter's greedy curiosity, he took a slow sip from his own glass and put forth his plan. "Several weeks ago a young woman disappeared from Gold River. You could say she was my business partner...of sorts. She was taken by the Cheyenne. I've learned since then that she's set up housekeeping with a Cheyenne buck named Rising Sun. A few days ago I was ordered to stop mining with a court order saying I was operating without her permission." Marsh paused to take another sip from his glass, noting that Morales was listening to each word. "I also was given a note written by her saying that she was well and with the Cheyenne of her own will and that any further operations at the mine would have to be delayed until she returned." "So?" "So, Mr. Morales, I'm losing money everyday that mine sits idle. I want it reopened immediately and the only way I can do that is if Mrs. Barrett returns, or if..." "She does not return at all," Morales finished for him with a sly smile. "And the second person you want me to kill is this Cheyenne warrior?" Marsh's steel gray eyes narrowed contemptuously as he thought about his suspicions. "You're very perceptive, Mr. Morales. I can see why you came so highly recommended. Yes, you're right of course." "You are maybe jealous of this Indian's position in the young lady's favor?" "That's only a small part of it," Marsh conceded with a scowl. "You see, I've also learned that the Cheyenne have a new chief, a young


warrior named Rising Sun, who is the grandson of Chief Two Feathers. The same one Mrs. Barrett has taken a liking to. It seems this young war chief was gone from the tribe for several years and then suddenly reappeared, just about the time Mrs. Barrett was taken captive." "Why do you not tell the army?" Morales suggested. "Perhaps I will, when the time is right," Marsh replied. "But not until I'm sure this Indian and Mrs. Barrett are dead. You see, this Indian is determined to keep the Cheyenne at peace...and I can't afford that, Mr. Morales. I've gone to considerable lengths to stir up a war with the Cheyenne and I don't want some meddling do-gooder getting in my way." Marsh's eyes grew ice cold as he pictured Blaine Dekker in his mind's eye. "Besides, I have other...more personal reasons for wanting to see the Cheyenne eradicated. There's a half breed marshal I'd like to see squirm over a slow fire. But," he added with a pleasant smile, "that's another story." "One maybe we can discuss after I've finished our first business?" Morales suggested with a low chuckle. "Yes, perhaps. If you do your job well, Mr. Morales, you will not only solve my problem of ownership of the mine, but by killing a chief, perhaps start an uprising among the Cheyenne." "If that is what you want, senor Gordon, I shall make very sure that is what you'll get. A satisfied customer is a repeat customer. Eh, senor Gordon?" Marsh filled both their glasses again and they drank a silent toast to their new alliance.


CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

The war council lasted nearly two weeks. During much of that time Blaine was at the war talks with the leaders from the other tribes, often coming back to his lodge late at night and sometimes not at all. They talked of long ago exploits, of raiding parties and hunting expeditions. They swapped arrows, rifles, and horses and inevitably argued about the speed of favorite horses. This often led to good-natured races with carefully laid out courses on both sides of the river. They gambled recklessly on the outcome, often losing everything from a handful of glass beads to a fine buffalo robe their woman had spent weeks decorating. The nights were spent in dancing and ceremonial rites. The sound of drums filled the valley and the smell of smoky fires and steaming cooking pots combined to add the festive air. One night into the second week of the council, Winter was awakened by Blaine's hurried entrance into their lodge in the middle of the night. When she came fully awake, she was aware that he was kneeling beside her, shaking her gently. "Winter, wake up! Come on, Red!" he was saying impatiently. "W-what is it? What's going on?" Blaine ran a hand over her tumbled chestnut mane as he forced a grim smile at her sleepy efforts to focus on him. "Get up, Winter, we're leaving. We're going home." he informed her in a clipped, insistent tone.


"Now? In the middle of the night?" Winter questioned curiously. She sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Growing alarm spread through her at the sight of the grimness in Blaine's face. "Why, Blaine? Has something gone wrong?" "Let's just say it's in our best interest to get the hell out of here as soon as possible." He turned to begin gathering up their belongings in preparation of the journey back to Cheyenne territory. Behind him, Winter struggled into her clothes and quickly braided her long hair. "You told them the Cheyenne wouldn't fight, didn't you?" she asked quietly. "Yes," he agreed shortly. "I told them the Cheyenne had seen enough bloodshed. I told them we would keep our word to the government to live in peace. The Arapaho and Comanche weren't thrilled at that decision. Our welcome is wearing out fast. I think it's best if we leave while they're still debating about it." "Red Fox is furious, I bet," Winter ventured as she began helping him take down the lodge. "That's putting it mildly. He was counting on our support. He had a few unpleasant observations to make about my blood-lines before Running Wolf of the Comanche told him to sit down," Blaine confirmed with a wry smile over his shoulder. Within minutes the lodges of the Cheyenne delegation were down, packed on the pack horses, and the party ready to leave the council ground. When Winter saw the sullen faces of Tall Grass and Stalking Elk, she reached across the distance between their horses to touch Blaine's arm as they moved silently through the lodges of their Arapaho neighbors, heading toward the west.


"What's wrong with Tall Grass?" she whispered. "He'd rather stay until morning and take a chance on Running Wolf's hospitality. He thinks this looks like we're running away." "Aren't we?" Blaine flashed her an indulgent smile and glanced back at Tall Grass riding behind him. "If you want to look at it like that, I suppose you could say we're running. But, in view of the mood of that council, I think it's the smartest thing we can do." "Then the council voted for war," Winter said in a hollow-sounding voice that was neither a question nor a statement. "Yes, unanimously except for us. I did everything I could think of, used every argument I knew, but they wouldn't listen. They're determined to get themselves annihilated. They seem to think their injured pride is reason enough to start another blood-bath. I wanted no part of it and told them so." "Are we in danger?" Winter asked fearfully as their horses cleared the campsite and headed into open ground. "From Red Fox? No," Blaine assured her. "The Cheyenne and the Arapaho have been allies for years. Red Fox is furious all right, but he'll not raise a hand to us. It's Running Wolf and the Comanche that worry me. It's been a tense peace between them and the Cheyenne at best, and with them hell-bent on a war, I don't know how long they'll stay peaceful. At any rate," he added with a grim smile at her in the pale moonlight, "I don't intend to wait around and find out." "What about the war, Blaine? Is there anything we can do?" Blaine looked at her small pale features and shook his head with a long sigh. "The best we can hope for is that I can keep the Cheyenne out of


it." "I know you've done all you can," she said in a choked voice. Her eyes shone in the pale light, but Blaine saw the warmth that filled them. He stared into her face for a moment, then looked away and cleared his throat. "But I'm afraid." "There's nothing for you to be afraid of, Little Flower," he said in that husky, honey-warm voice that made Winter's blood race with excitement and her palms sweat with expectation. "I won't let anything happen to you. I swear it. I'll never let anything harm you again." Winter gave him a watery smile and wiped her eyes with the back of one small, shaky hand. If Blaine said it, it was true, she thought to herself, a little surprised at how easily she had come to accept his word. Not since her father had there been a man whose word she trusted so completely, but that knowledge did not make Winter happy. Far from it. It made her afraid of her own emotions. Her fears came not from the impending war with the Indians, but from within herself. She had trusted her father and lost him to a Cheyenne arrow. She had trusted Ben Barrett and lost him to an explosion that she was no longer sure was an accident. Looking at Blaine's regal profile beside her in the shadows of a hot July night, a lump formed in her throat as she choked back a sob. She'd lost the two men in her life who'd had a profound influence on her; she could not lose the one man who'd risked everything for her, the one man she no longer knew if she could live without. *** The Cheyenne party gratefully reached the cooler, higher ground close to the traditional hunting grounds and breathed a silent sigh of relief to be out of hostile territory. Ever since leaving the war council the party had traveled at night and rested by day, always with several of the warriors keeping a watchful eye on the trail behind them.


But now within a few miles of the village Winter felt the tension begin to drain from the weary warriors. Emerging from a stand of tall cottonwoods, Winter leaned back in the saddle, closing her eyes as the cooling breeze drifted through her hair. So tired she was almost dozing in the saddle, she pictured the cool water of the river running alongside the village and wet her lips in anticipation of a refreshing swim when they finally reached their destination. Her dreamy reverie ended abruptly as gunfire came crashing down upon them from a boulder looming high above the trail. Instantly, the warriors swung their ponies into the covering trees and put themselves between the rifle fire and the women and children. Amid snorting horses and the crack of the rifle tearing up patches of grass all around them, Winter stifled a scream as she scrambled down off the snow-white pony. She snatched the rifle from her saddle boot and dropped to her stomach beside Blaine behind a rotting log. Chips of the wood went flying as the rifle slugs slammed into the log. The whine of bullets striking rocks made Winter's teeth clinch in an effort to keep her lips from trembling when the warriors returned the unseen gunman's fire. "Blaine, who is it? What's happening?" Blaine paused to give her a reassuring glance before lifting the Winchester to his shoulder. He sighted along the shiny rifle barrel and squeezed the trigger. Winter saw the momentary glimpse of a black hat bob behind the boulder, then ducked down behind the log again when the flash of sunlight on the gunman's rifle told her he was going to fire again. "I wish to hell I knew," Blaine said through clenched teeth as he drew a bead on the attacker's position. "Is it the Comanche?"


"No, the Comanche wouldn't lay in ambush. They'd come straight at us," Blaine said grimly. He turned onto his back, motioning for Tall Grass and the others to come closer. The warriors slid along the ground so quickly it reminded Winter of a rattlesnake getting into position to strike. They gathered around Blaine and waited for him to speak. Once more Winter marveled at the respect they showed. Speaking swiftly in Cheyenne, Blaine told the warriors to work their way up the side of the hill to get behind the gunman. Winter's blood ran cold at his calm, detached tone as he gave the instructions. He could have been discussing the weather for all the emotion he displayed, but she comforted herself with the thought that only a level head would get them out of this without someone getting killed. Glancing at the children huddled beneath their mother's skirts, she decided it was better they get the unseen rifleman than have him kill one of the children. Ten minutes crept by. Sweat dripped down Winter's back and ran in cold rivulets down her spine while she waited anxiously for one of the warriors to come back with a scouting report. The rifleman kept up a steady barrage from his well secured position above the trail, keeping Blaine and Winter pinned down behind the log. A rustle beside them brought a startled gasp from Winter's stiff lips until the sight of Tall Grass's copper face of brought a sigh of relief. "One man with rifle," Tall Grass grunted in Cheyenne while he pointed to the boulder. "Many gunbelts, many bullets." "One man?" Blaine repeated curiously. "Why would one man be stupid enough to take on a Cheyenne hunting party? It doesn't make any sense." "Mexican bandit. Morales! Scalp hunter!" Tall Grass growled, then


spit to emphasize his disgust. "Morales? The last I heard of him, he was in Mexico hunting Apache." "Who is this Morales?" Winter asked anxiously. "How do you know him?" "I've never had the pleasure personally," Blaine returned dryly. "Morales is a scalp hunter, Winter. Years ago when the Indian wars were going on, the government paid a bounty for Indian scalps. It was supposed to only apply to warriors, but men like Morales didn't much care and most of the government agencies didn't look too close. One Indian scalp was as good as another, you know?" He paused to fire another round at the rifleman before directing his attention back to Winter's question. "What resulted was that people like Morales killed women and children...whatever was handy. It didn't matter as long as they had a scalp to turn in for the bounty." The hard, cold edge in his voice made the hair at the base of Winter's neck stand on end. His eyes had turned almost black and the muscles in his face twitched contemptuously at the memory of those days. "But that was years ago; there's no bounty now. So why would Morales be after us?" There wasn't time to answer his question before Morales began another assault, this time from a position a few feet closer than the last. Blaine reloaded his Winchester and motioned for Tall Grass to follow him. "Keep down, Winter, and cover us," he said as he paused to touch her cheek before sliding from behind the log. Seconds later Winter lost sight of him in the underbrush. She stared silently at the place he'd disappeared before the crash of a bullet just above her head in the log jerked her back to reality. Flipping onto her stomach, she began firing at the tiny puffs of smoke that indicated Morales' position, but his return fire quickly told her she wasn't hitting


anything. Seconds later Morales stopped shooting. Winter stuck her head above the log curiously just in time to hear a strangled scream coming from the hillside. War whoops quickly told her that Morales had been disposed of. The Indian women knew the danger was over and began rearranging the packs that had slipped loose during the mad scramble for safety. The children picked up sticks and began a game to pass the time. Winter stared at them, amazed that they could dismiss such a close call so easily when every fiber of her being was shaking with fear. The warriors came back down the hillside and calmly remounted to renew the last few miles of the journey. Looking at their stoic faces, Winter wondered if they'd enjoyed the kill. She was jolted from those morbid thoughts at the sight of Blaine emerging from the brush a few feet away. Her eyes froze on the patches of blood on the thighs of his leather leggings. She knew instinctively that he was not harmed, that the blood on his clothing was that of Morales. For a long moment they stared into each other's eyes. "Did you have to kill him?" Winter asked coldly with a downward glance at the hilt of the knife at his side. "Was it really necessary?" "He was trying to kill us. Would you rather he'd succeeded?" "Of course not!" Winter snapped indignantly. "I just don't understand why someone always has to die." "What did you expect me to do, Winter? Slap his wrists and tell him to be a good boy? He's a cold-blooded killer. Violence is the only thing men like that understand. Haven't you learned that yet?"


"The only thing I've learned is that you're becoming more like a savage with each passing day! And you know what really scares me, Blaine? What really scares me is that I think you're beginning to enjoy it!" she shouted furiously. She stomped away to mount the snow-white pony. Kicking him fiercely in the flanks, she sped away from the rest of the party before more angry words could be said. Blaine's dark face was fixed in a scowl when he swung up on the pinto and led the way back onto the trail toward the village. After riding silently for a time Tall Grass cantered into position beside him and motioned toward Winter's stiff back a couple of hundred yards ahead. "Woman no understand," Tall Grass ventured carefully with a sympathetic glance at Blaine. "Woman no understand man must kill to protect family. Someday she will see that you do only what you must." Blaine looked at the solemn copper face and shook his head. The sunlight filtering through the tree tops made his raven hair shimmer as he stared at her rigid back ahead of him. "Oh, she understands all right, Tall Grass," he said softly. "I think she's beginning to understand all too well."

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE


Days stretched into weeks. July went, August came and with it came the rain needed to make the Cheyenne's first crops flourish. Warriors and women alike worked in the fields each day, pulling weeds and tilling the soil to make the crop a success. While the Cheyenne remained at peace, they heard of attacks on white settlements by Running Wolf's Comanche and later, retaliation by the army sent from forts farther north. Colorado was in a state of siege. While Blaine's Cheyenne hoed corn and weaved blankets for the coming winter, Comanche and Arapaho warriors sharpened their lances and chanted the war dance under clear moonlit skies. Many of the warriors were restless. There was much talk of a Cheyenne war party but it did not materialize. Rising Sun's peaceful influence was strong and the council held stubbornly that there would be no war. But perhaps the most pertinent reason the Cheyenne of Two Feathers' kindred remained at peace was the women. The Cheyenne women knew their sisters farther south were gashing themselves and singing the death chant for lost husbands and sons. Many of them remembered the horror of war and preferred the peaceful days of the present to the bloodshed of the past. Their influence on the men had much to do with keeping war only a subject of conversation; not a reality. After a period of coolness following Morales' attack on the trail, Blaine and Winter soon resumed their close physical relationship. Winter found it impossible to lie next to him at night without craving the intimate contact her body had grown to need. They did not speak of that day, both of them willing to bypass a discussion that would only lead to more angry words. They settled into a comfortable routine of working in the fields by day, or hunting for fresh game, and snuggling together in their cozy lodge at night. Often they would slip away in the dead of night to the river and take a long


midnight swim to ease the discomfort of the sweltering heat. As always when they were alone, their differences faded into the distance as their desire for one another took precedence over all else. One such night after cooling off in the crisp water, they lay on a blanket on the river bank looking at the full moon passing between wisps of clouds. "Blaine, tell me about your father," Winter suggested as she lay in the circle of his arm. "What do you want to know?" "What he was like, you know, that kind of thing." Blaine's brows puckered in thought while his mind conjured up long past memories. "He died when I was six years old, Winter. What I remember about him are mostly just impressions," he said thoughtfully. The insistent silence told him Winter was not satisfied with his answer so he let out a long breath and tried again. "He was a big man, well over six feet tall. He had reddish hair and blue eyes, I think." "Of course. If he hadn't had blue eyes, then neither would you," Winter prompted with a playful tug on a lock of his long ebony hair. Blaine's sensual lips curled in an indulgent smile in the moonlight when he turned his head to look at her. "I suppose you're right. They had to come from somewhere, didn't they? He had a big bushy beard...red too, I think. But he was a kind man, I do remember that. He was kind and gentle. Strange qualities for a fur trapper, don't you think?" "How did he meet your mother?" "At Bent's Fort the summer she was fourteen. Two Feathers brought


the tribe to the fort to trade their furs for supplies. After that, I don't think either of them ever looked at anyone else," Blaine answered with a softness in his voice that made Winter smile. "Wasn't it difficult to get Two Feathers' permission for them to marry?" she asked curiously. "Probably not as hard as you think. Back then it wasn't all that uncommon for a white man, especially a trapper, to marry an Indian girl. But my grandfather did insist my father pass the Sun Dance ritual to prove his sincerity and made them promise to stay with the tribe," Blaine explained. His fingers toyed with a wet lock of Winter's chestnut hair while he admired her naked beauty in the silvery moonlight. She lay beside him on the blanket, her body glistening from their recent swim, her eyes watching him from the bend of his elbow where her head rested. "He must have loved your mother very much to suffer so much to prove his love for her," she said softly in reference to his statement about his parents. "Yes, I'm sure he did," Blaine agreed. He turned his face back toward the clouds, closing his eyes with a peaceful sigh. "I mean, he gave up his own way of life to be with her," Winter went on thoughtfully, still watching his face. "And he sacrificed himself in the Sun Dance just to prove he was worthy of her. I think that says a lot about the kind of man he was." "Ummmm," Blaine agreed sleepily. "It takes a very special kind of person to give up everything for someone else," Winter prompted. "I'd say a person like that would have to care very deeply about that other person, wouldn't you?"


"Sure, I guess so." Winter let out a deep sigh and decided to try another tactic. "Don't you think that you're very much like your father in that respect?" She felt the instant alertness in him, felt his muscular arm tense under her head. She wet her lips nervously and searched for the right words. "I mean, look at what you've done because of me. You risked your life to save mine when we were children, you spent years of exile because of it, and now you're here, in the village carrying out your grandfather's wishes, because of me again. I think that makes you a very special person." "I'm glad you think so," Blaine said dryly with one eye open, watching her, and wondering why she seemed so nervous, so insistent on this conversation. "How did your father feel about you, about having babies, I mean?" Winter asked after a short pause. Blaine's bare shoulders shrugged beneath her head. "He was crazy about me. Why wouldn't he be? I was a very cute kid." "So I remember," she said dryly. "All arms and legs and ears. Yes, you were adorable as I remember." "Oh yeah?" Blaine laughed as he turned over quickly, pinning her beneath him. He caught both her wrists in his hands and held them above her head. "Well, I remember a skinny little girl with flaming red hair and the biggest, saddest eyes I've ever seen. And you want to talk about legs? You had the boniest knees in the world." "If I was so ugly, why did you want to be my friend?" Winter asked between gasps for breath while she struggled to free herself from his grasp.


Blaine's face sobered, his eyes grew serious as he studied her upturned, half-teasing, half-serious face in the moonlight. "Because, Little Flower, those great sad eyes that told me you were lonely and scared. They told me how badly you needed a friend...just like I did," he said gently. His face bent still lower until he kissed her softly, then more intensely when Winter's arms slid around his neck and she answered his hungry mouth. For several moments all thoughts left her head except for the thrill of his kisses, of his hands moving over her flesh, searching, exploring, exciting her. Winter tried unsuccessfully to get her mind back on track, to return to the subject on her mind, but Blaine's warm, insistent mouth won the battle and she gave up with a sigh of contentment. Lying back in his arms, she surrendered to the tidal wave of desire that swept through her veins when he moved down her body with warm, sensuous kisses, covering every square inch of her flesh until she quivered with expectation and whimpered his name. "Blaine, Blaine, wait...please wait..." Blaine raised his head and stared at her curiously. Winter slid from beneath him and firmly pushed at his chest until he lay down beside her. She rose on both elbows and leaned over him, kissing his face, then his lips, then moved down his throat. "Let me make love to you," she whispered huskily when she raised her face so she could see his eyes. Blaine folded his hands behind his head and closed his eyes, giving himself up to her wishes. Winter's mouth moved down his chest, nipping and sucking at each rock-hard nipple, then farther down, trailing wet, hot kisses across his flat stomach and inner thighs.


His rising excitement increased Winter's own desire. She felt his fingers flex in her long, damp hair, felt her breasts swell against the palms of his hands when he reached to cup each one and gently twirl his thumbs across the distended coral tips. Amazed at her own boldness, Winter stroked his throbbing shaft then lifted it to her face, rubbing the satiny flesh against her cheek. Then she tasted it hesitantly, kissing the swollen head first, then swirling the tip of her tongue around it. The shudder that ran through Blaine's body, coupled with his soft, gasping moans of pleasure fueled Winter's own desire, made her even more anxious to please him. Becoming bolder, she slipped her lips over his erection, moving back and forth slowly until he grabbed her face between both hands and held her away. "Easy, Red," he whispered in a hoarse, strained voice as he pulled her up across his body and settled her astride him. Winter smiled victoriously into his narrowed, passion-hot eyes as he slipped deeply inside her. His hands on her flanks aided the piston-like rhythm she set. Only moments later they reached a shattering climb to ecstasy together that left them both shaken and completely spent. Cradled again in the circle of his arm, Winter let out a long sigh of contentment and snuggled closer to his side. "Blaine?" she whispered while one finger trailed lightly across the heaving muscles in his chest. "Ummmm?" "How do you think you'd feel about having children someday?" she asked in a soft, yet almost teasing manner.


"Me? A father?" Blaine returned with an element of scorn in his voice. "I wouldn't wish that on any kid, especially my own." "But wouldn't you like to get married someday and settle down, have a family?" "I'm already married," he grunted. "And having kids is something I can do without. I'd be the world's worst father anyway." He turned toward her and rose on one elbow to look into her face. "Besides, who needs kids getting in the way when we've got each other?" Winter studied the half-serious expression on his handsome face, wondering if he realized how tense he'd become. "But there are other things in life besides making love, Blaine," she pointed out cautiously. "Things like commitment and making a home...and children." "Yeah, sure, I know that," Blaine replied after lightly kissing her serious face. "But what kind of life would this be for a family?" "You won't always be here. Two Feathers is very sick. He can't live forever. When he's gone, your commitment will be over. You can do whatever you want then." A short, bitter laugh rippled from Blaine's lips as he sat up and reached for his clothes on the ground beside them. "Sure, and go back to being a fifty dollar a month marshal? That's really something to offer a family, isn't it?" "So what exactly do you want?" she asked stiffly, biting her lip to keep back harsher words. "That's easy," he answered with an indulgent smile over his shoulder. "I want Two Feathers to die. I want to see Marsh Gordon hang, and I want you."


"But things won't always be like they are between us now," Winter heard herself say tensely. "When this is over and I'm freed by the council, I'll leave here. I'm going back to Gold River and pick up the pieces of my life. Things between us will never be the same." "Why not?" Blaine demanded curtly. He was dressed now and standing above her. "Nothing has to change." Winter wondered how she could be so angry with him and still so impressed by his physique and the regal way he held himself. "I will never live with you, or any other man, in a civilized society without being married, and I don't mean in some pagan ceremony. I mean in a church with a real minister and real vows," Winter said furiously as she hurriedly got into her clothes. "What possible difference could a few words by a preacher make? You belong to me. You're my woman. Nothing a stuffed-shirt preacher can say could make that anymore true than it is already," Blaine argued, puzzled by the vehemence in her manner. "I do not belong to you!" Winter snapped. She bent down to pick up the blanket and flung it over her shoulder as she stomped toward the village. "I belong to myself! And what I do with me is my decision, Blaine Dekker! Not yours! Not your grandfather's! Do you understand?" "What the devil brought all this on?" Blaine said wonderingly when he caught up with her on the path. "Why all this talk about marriage? You're the one who said marriage was out of the question." "I was referring to this heathen ritual you call a marriage ceremony!"


"So are you saying you want to get married, by a preacher?" he asked. "Not if you were the last man on earth!" "Then I don't understand what all the fuss is about." Winter paused on the trail to turn toward him, both hands on her hips, staring at him while shaking her head. "For an intelligent man, Blaine Dekker, you can also be the densest man I've ever met!" she snapped angrily, then stalked on toward the village. *** Early the following morning Winter went to the river to get water. The sun was warm in a hazy sky and the smell of wildflowers along the river bank filled the air with a refreshing aroma. Winter bit her lip as she stared at the clumps of yellow and blue flowers, deciding to gather some to brighten up the lodge. After last night's rather confusing ending a few bright flowers might help ease her mind. It had been a mistake to bring up the subject of marriage and children to Blaine, she thought sadly while bending down to pick a large yellow blossom. He wasn't ready for such a commitment. He was too deeply involved in his Indian traditions to see the necessity of real marriage vows at a time like this. She wondered if he ever would. She let out a long ragged sigh and sat down amid the bright flowers, idly picking the petals off a daisy one at time. "He loves me, he loves me not," she repeated while plucking off the petals until the last one came off. "He loves me not," she said sadly. "And even if he said he did, it wouldn't be enough, would it? His kind of love begins at darkness and ends with dawn, and while it's wonderful while it lasts, it's not enough, damn it! It's just not enough! Not now, not for long anyway." She blinked rapidly a few times and wiped at her nose, then focused


on a large black and yellow butterfly flitting from flower to flower. "How lucky you are," she mused to the butterfly. "You can come and go as you please, any time, any where...no secrets to keep.. "Not so with me, I'm afraid. I'm a prisoner here. I can't move without someone watching to make sure I don't go too far. And I must get away from here, away from Blaine. Soon...before he guesses the truth. But how? What can I do?" She sighed heavily and climbed to her feet with the armful of flowers. Lifting her head proudly, she sniffled a few times and squared her shoulders. "Okay," she said aloud in a firmer tone of voice. "Blaine doesn't want children and he doesn't see the need for a real marriage. Okay, so I'll get through this alone. I don't need him! I got along without him for years so there's no reason to think I can't get along without him now. I'll just find another way, that's all." A gleam of determination filled her eyes and her chin lifted stubbornly. "If the council won't release me soon, I'll find a way to escape. I'll get back to Gold River and settle things with the mine. Then I'll go to San Francisco maybe. I'll have the baby there. Blaine will never have to know." Her mind made up, she nodded firmly and bent her head to smell the flowers as she turned back toward the village. She realized uneasily that she had strayed much farther from camp than she'd intended. At least a half mile separated her from the village and her steps quickened as she began to hurry. It was several moments before she realized the birds had stopped singing in the treetops above her. She came to a dead halt in the middle of the grassy meadow and looked about nervously. She saw nothing to indicate danger, but still the hair at the base of her neck rose and her heart began to pound. The sudden absence of the birds' cheerful songs intensified the growing


alarm in Winter's stomach. She hurried toward the river bank even faster, still clutching the bundle of wildflowers to her chest. She gave a sigh of relief when the familiar sight of the river appeared. Only a few more feet now, just past that big cottonwood tree, she told herself. What a silly goose she was becoming, she thought with a giggle at her foolishness. Ten feet from the giant cottonwood Winter's eyes bulged with shock. The wildflowers drifted from her wooden fingers when she froze in the path. Both hands flew to her mouth as cold, blinding terror filled her when the solitary copper figure stepped from behind the tree to confront her. He moved toward her through the grass without a sound. Tall, handsome in a primitive manner, the warrior silently came closer while Winter remained frozen in place. She saw him clearly, saw the cold glitter in his black eyes, saw the menacing intent in his lean copper face as he got closer, yet she could not move. Her mind screamed a warning, but Winter's feet could not seem to receive the message and respond. In those few milliseconds she became a terrified eight year old child again, a child who had faced this same cold, merciless warrior at a different place in time. She had seen this man murder her mother with less emotion than if he'd squashed an insect on the floor, seen him lift his war ax to kill her as well, but he'd been stopped then. He would not be stopped now, she thought wildly when he lifted his knife from his breechcloth. "Blaine!" she heard herself scream. Her voice sounded unnatural in the still summer air in the few seconds she stood staring at the warrior. "Blaine, help me!" "He will not help you this time, Little Flower," the warrior said in a calm, almost amused manner. "This time the prize will be mine."


Winter's lips worked soundlessly, then the ground began to spin and she fell into the warrior's arms without a sound in a dead faint.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Winter glared at her captor across the sheltered campfire and prayed her fear did not show in her face. Her hands were bound in front of her, her feet tied at the ankles, allowing her only minimal movement. Glancing around the campsite for the thousandth time, she realized there was little chance of the smoke being spotted. The warrior had planned his trap carefully, she thought hatefully while she stared at his impassive face. This camp was only a few miles from the Cheyenne village, yet cleverly concealed in a small box canyon so deep the smoke from the fire would not be easily detected and so narrow if one did not know of its existence, one would most likely never find it. Her wrists chaffed from the rawhide bindings. Her body ached from being forced into the same position for hours. Her head ached and her throat felt parched from the heat, but her captor offered no water to ease her discomfort. Staring at him in the eerie firelight, Winter knew he would show no mercy and wondered fearfully what he planned doing with her. "You'll never get away with this," she said haughtily. "Rising Sun will have missed me hours ago. He'll be looking for me."


A slight twitch in the warrior's lips was the only indication that he heard her. Winter wet her dry lips and stared at him, wishing he'd say something, anything to break this terrifying silence. He had not spoken since their arrival at this camp. He turned the roasting rabbit on the spit over the fire and added another stick of wood. Standing up, he rubbed his hands against his leggings before finally looking directly at her. The deep penetrating black eyes made Winter's heart pound fearfully. As frightening as his silence was, she suddenly hoped he would remain silent for she didn't think she had the courage to hear what he planned to do with her. Staring up at him, she thought again how much like Blaine he was. Much the same height and weight with the same powerful build, only slightly darker copper skin. But the eyes were totally different. Blaine's eyes were clear, honest and this man's were filled with hatred and revenge. Still, Winter could not look away. "A Cheyenne chief does not go looking for a woman," Shadow Dancer said coldly. "If Rising Sun comes looking for you, he will prove he is not fit to be chief. He will be dishonored." "A Cheyenne chief does not look for a woman who runs away with another man," Winter corrected emphatically. "I have been kidnapped. That is quite a different matter." Shadow Dancer did not comment. He turned back to check the rabbit, then satisfied it was cooked, removed it from the spit and tore it into pieces. He sat down on a rock and ate his fill while Winter watched him, trying to ignore the gnawing hunger in her stomach. She had not eaten all day and now it was well past dark. She felt weak and ill as she bit her lips to fight back the despair building up inside her. Feeling a sharp nudge on the shoulder, she quickly opened her eyes to


find Shadow Dancer standing in front of her holding out the remains of his supper. Winter forced herself to take the two small pieces of rabbit slowly so he would not see how hungry she was and to take small bites. She chewed the food slowly to savor each morsel for there was no way of knowing when Shadow Dancer would decide to feed her again. He sat on his heels in front of her, watching her eat. Winter avoided looking at him, but she felt his penetrating black eyes move over her slowly, linger on the swell of her breasts beneath the loose fitting Indian dress, then come back to rest on her face. Winter fought back the shudder that ran through her slender body at the cold speculation in his eyes when she finally had the courage to glance at him. She suddenly lost her appetite, threw the rabbit bones away into the brush nearby and wiped her greasy fingers on her dress. She gave an inaudible sigh of relief when he rose to return to the fire. He was only gone a second before returning with a skin bag of water which he held out to her in silent offering. Winter took it eagerly, unable to remain brave any longer. She drank the warm water gratefully. When she took the container from her lips and wiped the dribbles off her chin, she handed it back to Shadow Dancer with a sigh of relief. "Thank you," she murmured without looking at him. "It is not my wish that you should die of thirst or hunger," Shadow Dancer said curtly. "What exactly do you want from me?" Winter asked bravely. With food in her stomach and water to ease her thirst, she was more able to confront her fears. "Why have you done this to me?" Shadow Dancer almost smiled at her display of courage. His piercing


eyes swept over her again, admiring the stubborn tilt of her chin, the hatred behind her level hazel gaze. "It is easy to understand why Rising Sun would dishonor himself for you," he said thoughtfully from his perch beside her. "For many years I could not understand how he could place your life above his own. Now I understand. You are not an ordinary woman." Winter stared at him suspiciously. This man was a monster, yet she felt the honesty in his voice. She looked away quickly and chewed her bottom lip. "I don't give a damn what you think. I only want to know why you've taken me from the village. What do you hope to gain by all this?" "It would have been a mistake to have killed you as a child," Shadow Dancer went on as though she had not spoken. He lifted one hand and trailed a finger across her cheek, then smiled inwardly when she lifted her head away, glaring at him. "As beautiful as you were as a child, you have grown into an even more beautiful woman." The surprise that sprang to Winter's face amused him. He leaned back on his heels and studied her silently for a moment. "I remember you very well from the mission school...always following Rising Sun...always smiling at him...always playing with him. I hated him for that." Winter found her voice as she stared at him in shock. "And me? Did you hate me as well, Shadow Dancer?" His long raven hair shimmered in the rising moonlight when he nodded. His eyes bore into hers, but Winter refused to look away. It took all her courage but she held his cold, amused gaze until he decided to answer. "Yes, Little Flower, I hated you," he said at last. "I wanted you. I laid


awake many nights thinking up ways to make you like me. You had eyes only for Rising Sun." "We were children," Winter argued. "How could you want me? I was only a child!" "In my world a girl becomes a woman very early, Little Flower. A boy is a man at thirteen. I was a man and I chose you for my woman. I would have waited until you were older, but you would not look at me and in time I grew to hate you." "Is that why you helped kill my parents?" Winter demanded angrily. "Yes," was his calm answer. "To punish you. I wanted to kill you, but Rising Sun got in the way. How was I to know that he'd betray his own people to warn our white enemies? But," he added with a grim, mirthless smile. "He shamed himself, disgraced his grandfather and was punished. I thought I had destroyed him as well until you came back. Why didn't you stay in the east? Why did you come back?" "I came back to find the man who murdered my parents," Winter snapped furiously. She strained at the rawhide bindings, wishing she could rip his eyes from their sockets. The calm, sardonic expression on his face infuriated her beyond reason, made her reckless. "I thought all those years it was Rising Sun who came to my home that night and got my father to open the door so those blood-thirsty warriors could murder him and my mother. But it wasn't Rising Sun; it was you! You...you black-hearted monster! I'll kill you for that! I swear I will!" Instantly Shadow Dancer's hand shot out to clutch her throat, squeezing off her breath. Winter was helpless to fight him. Black spots appeared before her eyes and she started to lose consciousness. Slowly the haze cleared and fresh air rushed into her lungs when Shadow Dancer released the death grip on her throat. When she was able to see again, she saw him still resting on his heels in front of her


watching her with that cold, insolent expression that drove her past reason. She gulped in mouthfuls of air, staring at him in horror. Trembling violently, she blinked back tears and looked away before he could see them. "I think you will do exactly what I say, Little Flower," Shadow Dancer said calmly when he was sure she had recovered. "You are head-strong, but you will learn to do as I wish...in time. You will learn to be grateful for each bite of food I give you, for every drink of water...for each breath you take." "And if I don't?" Winter asked in a hollow sounding voice that lacked the conviction she'd hoped for. Shadow Dancer rose to his feet, towering above her. Winter felt goose bumps pop up on her flesh, felt her throat go dry with fear when he smiled. The pale moonlight made his hair shimmer and gave his lean face an eerie effect. His strong white teeth flashed in a mocking manner at her question. "You will, Little Flower. In time you will give me gratefully what you have given Rising Sun." "Never!" Winter exclaimed furiously. Shadow Dancer merely stared at her in amusement, then returned to the fire. He piled several sticks on the glowing embers, then settled back against a large rock with his rifle cradled across his chest. "Aren't you afraid the fire will be seen?" Winter couldn't help asking. She was fairly certain the danger had passed for the moment. Shadow Dancer didn't intend to kill her right away. He obviously had something else in mind.


"You must know Rising Sun will be searching for me. When I didn't return to the village he began to retrace my movements. It won't take him long to decide I was taken against my will. When he figures out it was you, he'll be coming after you. So why make it easy for him by building up the fire?" Shadow Dancer's black eyes mocked her across the dancing flames, but he did not speak. Winter's thoughts went back to the path he had taken to this camp after she'd regained consciousness. Slowly she realized that he had not tried to wipe out his tracks. Neither had he left misleading trails or double-backed to throw off pursuers. Her eyes grew wide with realization as she stared at him. Meeting his cold, amused gaze across the fire, she felt a paralyzing fear creep into her throat. "My God!" she whispered. "That's what you want! That's what this is all for, isn't it? You set a trap for him and you're using me as bait!" "Twice in our lifetimes, Little Flower, when you have been in danger Rising Sun has risked his own life to rescue you. Once, when we were children, he raised his hand to one of his own kind. And again, only weeks ago when Two Feathers took you as a hostage, he came again because your life was in danger. I have no reason to believe he will not come a third time to save your life. "But this time I will be waiting. I have the one thing Rising Sun cannot resist--you. You are his greatest weakness. He will come, offer himself in exchange for you, and this time I will kill him." Winter stared at him in horror as helplessness washed through her. He was right of course. Blaine was probably on their trail at this very moment. He would walk into Shadow Dancer's trap to save her. But this time he would die. "But he will not die easily," Shadow Dancer was saying when her


frightened mind could focus once more. "Before I allow him to die, he will pay dearly for all he has made me endure. He will regret the day he raised his hand to me and he will regret that he has saved your life." The subtle threat finally crept into Winter's frozen brain. Staring at him in numb terror, she saw the glitter in his narrow black eyes when his gaze flickered over her again. "W-what do you mean?" she asked weakly. "Before Rising Sun dies he will lose the things he treasures most--his honor and his woman," Shadow Dancer answered with a tiny menacing smile that chilled Winter's blood. He studied the horror-stricken expression on her face and added, "Do not be afraid, Little Flower, I do not intend to kill you if you do as I ask." "What do you intend to do with me?" she asked in choked whisper. "When my enemy is dead you will be my woman like I intended when we were children. You will be my wife. I will be chief of the Cheyenne and lead my people back to greatness." "I'll die before I'll let you touch me!" she vowed scornfully, her fear almost forgotten for the moment. "You're a fool if you think you can lead the Cheyenne! You'll destroy them with your ideas if you think they will ever return to the greatness of the past. Those days are over! The Cheyenne must adapt new ways, like Rising Sun is teaching them, if they are to survive at all." Shadow Dancer moved so quickly Winter barely had time to gasp before he'd leaped to his feet and crossed the fire. He slapped her open-handed so hard her head snapped back, then rocked back and forth while a million bright lights exploded behind her eyes. When the stars finally faded from her vision, Shadow Dancer had moved back to his former position across the fire, still watching her with that cold amusement in his black eyes that made her weak with


fear. "You will learn to speak with a civil tongue, Little Flower, or you will force me to remove it," he warned mildly as he leaned back against the rock and once more placed the rifle across his chest. "Within a few days you will be grateful to do whatever I ask. This I promise you." Winter shuddered from the low, husky inflection in his voice as she shook her head to clear it. Her cheek ached painfully and her arms were going numb from the tight rawhide thongs around her wrists, but she knew to ask for mercy would only add to Shadow Dancer's pleasure. Whatever he had planned, it was sure to be humiliating and depraved, she told herself as she shifted on the hard ground in search of a more comfortable position. He had planned this very carefully, waited too long for his revenge to make Blaine's death an easy one, or her life afterward a pleasant one. Staring at his cold features in the flickering firelight, she shuddered again and glanced up at the pale moon sliding behind a cloud. If I were braver, Lord, I'd pray that Blaine would not come, she prayed silently. But I know he will and if he dies it will be my fault. Yet, I can't help asking You to please let him come, let him get me out of this awful mess. If You'll help him, Lord, to save me this one last time I swear I'll go away where I'll never involve him in my mistakes again. She bowed her head to hide the unexpected tears that burned her eyes and made her throat ache. If You'll help him this one last time, Lord, I'll never let him know about the baby. I'll never ask anything else of him. But please, Lord, don't let him die because of me and please don't let my unborn baby suffer because of my stupidity. Please, I'm begging You. She drew a ragged breath and glanced at Shadow Dancer now sleeping peacefully a few feet away as if he didn't have a care in the


world. Torn between her intense hatred for this man and her intense fear for the man she was sure would soon walk into his trap, she choked back tears and wiped her nose on the shoulder of her deerskin dress. There was nothing she could do except wait. *** "You must not follow her!" Blaine glanced over his shoulder at the cracked voice and grimaced irritably as he returned to packing supplies on the pinto pony tied in front of his lodge. "You bring only shame upon yourself if you follow after the woman. You are a Cheyenne chief! A chief does not become angry when his wife chooses another man." "I know what a Cheyenne chief does," Blaine growled when he turned to face his grandfather. "He passes his pipe around and says he has no fault with his wife and that's the end of it." "That is the way of a great chief," Two Feathers agreed with a solemn nod. "He must set a good example for his people. He must not show anger or react with violence to such a act." "But I'm only half Cheyenne," Blaine reminded him tensely. "And the white half of me intends to take my wife back from the man who has kidnapped her." "You must not chase after a woman like a dog after a bitch in heat. You must remember your position. You can send warriors after this man if he has taken your wife without her permission." "I don't need warriors," Blaine snapped angrily. He picked up the


Winchester resting against the lodge pole and checked the chamber. "Winter is my wife. I'll take back what is mine alone!" "You are being foolish, Rising Sun," Two Feathers said in a sad tone. "Once more your feelings for this woman are more important than your obligation to your people. You dishonor me." "My obligation to the Cheyenne, as you put it, has never been and will never be as important as Little Flower. You knew that when you forced me to come back and become a chief. I did it only because of your threats against her. I've never pretended anything else!" "You are a Cheyenne chief!" Two Feathers said harshly. His lined old face seemed older, his sad black eyes lifeless. His once erect shoulders now sagged beneath his deerskin shirt as he stared at Blaine's determined face. "It is your birthright! You must not treat it so lightly!" "Get this through your head, grandfather, the only thing of importance to me is to catch up with Shadow Dancer before he harms Winter," Blaine said through clinched teeth. His face was tense from lack of sleep, his eyes cold and narrowed with anger. "She is only a woman. You can choose another, anyone you wish. You must not allow your weakness for this woman to destroy your influence with your people!" "I don't want another woman!" Blaine snapped as he yanked the pinto's reins free of the lodge pole and leaped onto his back. "And I don't give a damn about my influence with the people! The only thing I care about is Winter!" "Perhaps Shadow Dancer was right," Two Feathers answered harshly. The heavy disappointment in his voice made Blaine's teeth grind with impatience. "I hoped that when you returned to your people you would become one of them again. I hoped that you would take your place as chief with dignity and lead the people to lasting peace with the whites.


Perhaps I was wrong, perhaps your feelings for this woman are too strong to let you see what you must do." "I have kept the Cheyenne out of a war that they couldn't possibly win and I've broke my back to teach them how to survive in this new world. I've sacrificed my whole way of life, my job, not to mention my pride, to do what you wanted, grandfather, but I'll goddamn sure not sacrifice my woman too. "I gave you my word that I would become chief to help the people live in peace and I've kept it. I'll continue to keep it, but first I'm going after my wife. When she's back with me, I'll try to be the honorable chief you want me to be, but I can't rest until I've found her. If you can't understand that, I'm sorry. But I'm going after my wife." "You should have killed Shadow Dancer when you held the advantage," Half Moon said solemnly while she stepped between Blaine and Two Feathers. The sadness in her regal copper features caused Blaine to rein the pony to a halt and stare at her curiously. "Now he has your woman and the advantage. He will try to kill you. If he succeeds, he will kill the woman too. You know this, na'?" she asked quietly. "Yes, na'go', I know," Blaine answered in a calmer tone from his position on the horse above her. "You must not fail, my son," she said firmly. "It is not the way of our people, but you must kill your cousin if you are to save your wife's life. Go with God, Rising Sun." Blaine bent down from the pony's back and kissed his mother's wrinkled brow. "It's Blaine, mother," he said softly as he raised upright once more. "Blaine Dekker, after my father. Remember?" Half Moon's graying regal head nodded in understanding. "Yes, my son, I remember and I am very proud. You are your father's son. But


you are also my son and the chief of a great nation. Your honor is being tested, but I have faith that you will come back to your people with your wife and your honor. This is all that I would ask." "I'll be back, mother, as soon as I've found Winter. You have my word." Blaine smiled at her briefly, then swung the pinto around and moved past Two Feathers. Urging the wiry horse into a swift gallop, he quickly disappeared beyond the lodges into the distance toward the river. "It is not the way of a great chief," Two Feathers grumbled while he watched Blaine disappear. "It is the way of your grandson, father," Half Moon said respectfully at his side. "It is the new way. Rising Sun loves his wife; that's as it should be." "Love should never come between a chief and his duty," Two Feathers said stoutly with a disapproving glance at her. "It is Rising Sun's love for his wife that has saved our people from a great war, is it not?" Half Moon asked reproachfully with a tiny half smile. "There is much to be said for love. A great man once said that love is the strongest bond in the world. It binds a man and a woman together just as it binds a people together. Do you not remember saying those words, father?" "Better Rising Sun is bound to his people than a white woman who will never understand his duty," Two Feathers replied with a grunt. "Rising Sun has learned of love from this woman; he has learned of duty from you, my father. He will not forget either of these lessons for they have both been painfully learned. Rising Sun will not turn his back on his people," Half Moon added as she stared after him.


"He has given his word to the council. His word is as honorable as his love for his wife. But his great love for Little Flower is still new. He cannot yet be expected to put his duty before his wife's needs. This will only come with time. We cannot expect more." "His white blood makes him unpredictable," Two Feathers observed sadly. Half Moon smiled and nodded in agreement. "Perhaps, but we knew in the beginning Rising Sun's heart would soften toward his people slowly. Each day he becomes more Cheyenne, but he has not yet realized his need to be among his own kind. His white blood makes him intelligent and resourceful as well. It tells him his woman is more important than his duty, yet it is his feelings for the woman that brought him back to our people. "He has the blood of his father," she said quietly to the old, scowling chief. "It is good blood, strong blood and that, my father, makes me very proud," she added with a secretive, longing smile as she turned and silently walked away.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

After a cold and sleepless night, Winter was roused at dawn by Shadow Dancer's sharp nudge on the shoulder and tried to sit upright. When her stiff body did not move fast enough to suit her impatient captor, he yanked her to her feet with an irritated snarl.


A gasp of pain burst from Winter's stiff lips from the pressure the weight of her body put on numbed legs. She would have fallen had not Shadow Dancer held her upright. Biting her lips to keep back the pained whimpers trying to escape past them, she stared in surprise when the warrior lifted the knife from his waistband and deftly sliced through the rawhide thongs that bound her. He moved away to stir up the smoldering fire, leaving her to rub at her chaffed wrists and ankles to revive the circulation. As the blood began to flow freely back into her numbed limbs, Winter sat back down on a flat rock and watched him suspiciously. There was more tension in Shadow Dancer this morning than there had been the night before. Winter wondered if it was because he expected Blaine at any moment. She shook off the fear that sliced through her heart at the prospect and gratefully took the skin bag of water he offered her. She drank deeply until he jerked it away and tossed it aside. Obviously he did not intend to give her food, she thought uneasily. He had not prepared breakfast even for himself, but carefully rechecked his rifle and set it upright beside the rock where he'd spent the night. Alarm shot through her when he silently walked toward her and motioned at her impatiently. "Take off your clothes," he ordered harshly. Winter's face blanched. Her eyes widened with shock and fear but Shadow Dancer was not in the mood to argue. "W-w-what?" Winter stammered while she drew back from him. "You heard what I said, Little Flower," Shadow Dancer growled menacingly. "Take off your clothes now!" The tone of his voice left no room for disagreement. Winter rose on shaky legs and slowly lifted the deerskin dress over her head. Shadow


Dancer snatched it from her and flung it aside while his narrowed black eyes remained locked on her naked body. Winter felt sick. She wished she could cover herself from his cold eyes, but knew such a movement would only anger him. So she forced herself to return his cold stare with as much detachment as she could muster. Drawing upon her inner strength, she resolved to endure whatever he did to her without pleading for mercy. Shadow Dancer's eyes moved up and down her slender body silently for a short time, then he turned away and motioned for Winter to follow him. She wet her lips and picked her way around the patches of cactus to a flat patch of ground a few feet beyond the campsite. Her startled eyes flew from the ground to Shadow Dancer's hooded eyes. "What are you going to do?" she asked in a strained, high-pitched voice. A tiny cold smile touched the warrior's lips at the horror in her face as he gestured for her to come closer. "There is no need for your fear, Little Flower. I will not let the wolves come near you. The ground will be hard and the sun very hot after a time, but you will be in no real danger, unless Rising Sun takes too much time in coming for you." Winter stared at the hard, sandy area and then back at Shadow Dancer. Four wooden stakes were driven into the ground. Attached to each one was a long piece of rawhide. A sharp push forced her to her knees in the dirt. She tried to rise but the warrior's heavy foot in her chest made her immobile and left her gasping for breath while he bent to swiftly tie her wrists and her ankles to the wooden stakes in an eagle-spread fashion. Satisfied she was securely tied, Shadow Dancer stood back to admire his handiwork. Winter's angry, frightened eyes met his cold stare without flinching while he stood above her. She swallowed hard, but did not look away


when he dropped to his heels between her out-spread legs and ran one hand up her inner thigh and over her stomach. "You better kill me now, you bastard!" she snarled between clenched teeth. "Because you'll have to kill me before I'll let you touch me!" "You speak bravely now, Little Flower," he said pleasantly as he rose to his feet once more and stared down at her. "In a few hours you will not speak so quickly. Your white flesh will burn from the sun until you will beg for mercy. Your tongue will swell from thirst until you plead for a sip of water. Your cries will fill the air and cause the birds to be silent, but I will not hear you." "But Rising Sun will hear me, is that it?" Winter snapped furiously. She strained against the rawhide bindings and fell back panting. "If you think I'll beg and plead so he will hear me and be lured to his death, you underestimate me, Shadow Dancer. I will not give your wicked soul the satisfaction of doing what you want." With a grunt of fury, Shadow Dancer kicked her savagely in the ribs. Then he walked away and left her gasping for breath and fighting the urge to vomit. When the red haze lifted, Winter saw him seated near the fire with the rifle across his chest, waiting. Hours passed. The sun moved to hover directly above Winter. By now her flesh had turned red from the cruel August sun. Her eyes were swollen almost closed, her throat parched and raw, her tongue thick from thirst. Her strength was gone. All that remained was her fierce determination not to cry out for mercy. She passed in and out of consciousness from the merciless sun. At times she was a little girl again living through the horror of the Indian attack. At times reliving the passion in Blaine's arms. At times gratefully unconscious. If she remained still for long, Shadow Dancer came to kick her again,


sadistically bringing her back to reality. Her sides and both thighs were black and blue from his cruelty, her ribs ached unbearably but still she refused to beg for mercy. "Cry out, Little Flower, and I will give you a cool drink of water," he taunted cruelly at those times. Winter squinted up at him through swollen eyes, grateful for the momentary shade his body provided as he stood above her with that cold, amused expression that left her shaking with fury even in her misery. "Never!" she croaked hoarsely, steeling herself for the sharp kick she knew would follow. "Where is your lover?" Shadow Dancer taunted wickedly. "Why has he not come to save you? Can it be that he no longer cares what happens to you?" Winter secretly began to have those same doubts, but she would not let her sadistic captor see her fears. Blaine should have found them hours ago, she thought miserably. Her lips were cracked from the heat, her face and body blistered and on fire, her tongue so thick her words were no more than hoarse whispers. Just when her will was almost broken, she heard Shadow Dancer's gasp of surprise and reached deep inside herself for the strength to raise her head. Shadow Dancer stood with his back to her, his rifle held loosely across his arms, staring at something beyond Winter's line of vision. "Throw the rifle away, cousin," she heard Blaine's husky voice command coldly. "Throw the gun away and fight me like a man, if you have the guts." The relief that washed over Winter was quickly dissolved by fear. She


struggled to see what was happening, but the rawhide thongs and her swollen eyelids made it all but impossible. Though all she could see were images, the controlled fury in Blaine's voice gave her more hope than she'd had in many hours. Shadow Dancer cursed himself for being taken off-guard. He should have been more alert. He should have know Rising Sun would not make things as easy as he'd anticipated. "I have your woman, my cousin," Shadow Dancer said haughtily. His surprise was almost instantly replaced by smugness. "And now I have you as well. When you are dead I will take your woman in the dirt where your blood flows." Blaine stared at him across the few feet that separated them, allowing himself a momentary glimpse at Winter's plight. He had found the canyon some time before but it had taken hours to find a way of approaching the campsite silently and unobserved. Winter's blistered body filled him with outrage but he fastened his cold gaze on Shadow Dancer's face with calm deliberation. "You have to kill me first, cousin," he said insolently as he tossed the Winchester away and lifted the long-bladed knife from his belt. Shadow Dancer's curled in a smile. He threw away his own rifle and took out his knife. They circled each other warily for a few seconds than began to duel in earnest. Blaine feinted, drew blood, and backed away several times while his opponent fought furiously, but was unable to land a blow. "It was a mistake to let you live, cousin," Blaine said hoarsely as they circled each other. "A mistake I shall not make a second time. I will kill you this time, as I should have before." Shadow Dancer stabbed at him viciously but his blade struck only air. As the warrior grew uneasy, his anxiety made him careless. Their


knives locked, their feet struck out to trip the other, and Shadow Dancer found himself on his back. He scrambled to his feet, swinging the knife at Blaine in a wide arc. Blaine's left fist caught him in the belly and lifted him off the ground. With a grunt of pain, Shadow Dancer staggered backwards, caught himself, and charged. His head hit Blaine square in the chest and they both fell backwards, scrambling furiously while wrestling for the other's knife hand. The dust swirled about them as they struggled. Then Winter saw Shadow Dancer flipped up and backwards. She heard a strangled scream, then only silence. She could see nothing. Her tortured mind envisioned Blaine lying dead with Shadow Dancer's knife buried in him. Blind terror swept over her at that thought. "Blaine!" she called hoarsely, praying feverishly, as a sob swelled up in her throat while she struggled against her restraints. A moment later she felt the rawhide bindings on her wrists cut free and was lifted into Blaine's embrace. "Blaine?" she whimpered painfully. "Blaine?" "It's all right, Red. It's over," he told her as he gathered her into his arms and cradled her head against his chest. "He's dead?" "Yes, the crazy son-of-a-bitch! He fell on his own knife! He couldn't even give me the satisfaction of killing him," Blaine grunted as he picked her up and carried her from the sun's burning rays into the shade of the thicket near the campsite. "Sorry I took so long getting here, Red," he said when he wrapped her in Shadow Dancer's blanket and set her upright against the trunk of a


scraggly cottonwood. "It took me hours to work my way down from the rim of the canyon, but I had to be absolutely sure he didn't see me until I was ready. How do you feel?" Winter sipped slowly from the canteen he held to her lips and managed a faint smile at his concerned face. "Like a broiled lobster," she said, then winced at the pain in her cracked lips. "I knew you'd come. I knew you wouldn't let me down." Blaine held the canteen away so she wouldn't drink too fast and looked at her injuries. "How badly are you hurt? What did that depraved bastard do to you?" he asked harshly. "Nothing," she hastened to assure him. "He just tried to broil me alive, that's all. He tried to make me scream so you'd hear me but I wouldn't do it. He couldn't make me." The pride in her voice brought a small grin to Blaine's lips. He let her have another drink of water, then sat back on his heels and put the cap on his canteen. "Did I ever tell you that you're one hell of a woman, Red?" "Why do you call me that? Red, I mean?" Winter asked wearily as she snuggled against his chest. "I don't know. Because you remind me of this red filly I had once maybe," Blaine said as he wrapped her blistered body in the blanket to keep off the sun's heat. "She was wild as sin, but after I worked with her for awhile she got as gentle as pie. I had her eating out of my hand." "I remind you of a horse?" Winter murmured. "Not exactly. Your hair is about that same color, especially when the sun hits it just right."


"Please, don't mention the sun to me right now," Winter said with a contented sigh. She slid deeper into his embrace and let the exhaustion that had been held at bay for hours take over. She was sound asleep when he lifted her onto the pinto a few minutes later and headed for the village.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

For over a week Winter was kept in bed with a raging fever resulting from the severe sunburn and the infection that followed. Her entire body was horribly blistered with tiny clear blisters popping up on her face and eyelids that made even opening her eyes torture. Half Moon remained at her side during those long miserable days and nights with a soothing potion made of herbs and roots pounded into a balm for her burned skin and a tea made of wild mint and nightshade that caused her to sleep most of the time so her body could heal itself. The high fever made everything distorted. Winter could never be quite sure if what she heard and saw was real or if it was her imagination resulting from the delirium of the fever. She dreamed of peaceful waterfalls and green meadows with singing birds all around that suddenly turned into spears that pierced her flesh and poked at her eyes. After such bad dreams she would awake screaming. And always Blaine would appear to hold her gently until the fears went away and she drifted back to sleep.


When at last she began to recover, she was surprised by the change in Blaine. From the moment she began to regain her strength he did not come to the lodge. Only Half Moon came to see to her needs but would answer no questions about Blaine's mysterious absence. It was only due to Winter's knowledge of the Cheyenne language that she was able to learn from passersby outside the lodge that Blaine had received some kind of message from Denver. When she was strong enough to walk about, she padded to the flap of the lodge and looked out to see him engaged in a deep conversation with Raven's Wing on several occasions. Bitter tears stung her eyes as she limped back to her sleeping mat and slumped down upon it. She did not understand his strange behavior at all, especially when he'd been so caring and protective of her during her captivity and illness. Finally she could stand her nagging doubts no longer and set out to find him. It was time to have it out in the open, she decided firmly as she limped between the rows of lodges in search of him. Whatever was troubling him must be connected to the message he'd gotten from Denver and if he would not come to her then she would go to him. Before she reached the council lodge there was a great commotion. She heard the sound of women wailing and great cries of grief and turning, saw a crowd of people around Two Feathers' lodge. With curious eyes, she hurried to join them to find out what had happened. As she reached the circle of grave faces, Blaine appeared from within the lodge and seeing her, pushed his way through the crowd and took her arm. "Winter, I'm glad you're here. Two Feathers wants to see you." Winter gasped in surprise but there was no time for questions as Blaine propelled her through the people toward the lodge. Entering the dim lodge, Winter was shocked to see the old chief lying on his sleeping mat beneath a bright blanket.


His face had the pallor of death that Winter had often seen during her nursing days in St. Louis. His breath was little more than a thin whistle, his body thin and wasted from illness, but his eyes were still alert when he recognized her and motioned her nearer. Wetting her lips, Winter ventured closer and knelt beside him. Half Moon sat nearby, but her solemn face revealed little when Winter glanced at her. She looked back over her shoulder, but Blaine had withdrawn from the lodge. It made her think that whatever Two Feathers had to say concerned her only and that Blaine did not wish to intrude. "Come closer, Little Flower," the old chief's raspy voice requested. "It is good of you to come." He did not give Winter a chance to reply, but motioned for her to remain silent. "I asked for you to tell you two things. First, it was not my wish that your parents should die. I did not plan the attack on the mission school. It was planned and carried out by a renegade band of warriors from among the Dog Soldiers. I could not stop them." Pausing for breath, he seemed to draw new strength from her silence. Winter sat staring at him wide-eyed, not knowing why he should tell her these things now when he'd remained silent for so many years. "Second, I must ask you if you truly care for my grandson." Winter realized that he was waiting for an answer so she slowly nodded her head. Two Feathers sighed heavily. Lifting a withered, claw-like hand, he reached for hers. "If you truly care for Rising Sun, you will allow him to be chief of the Cheyenne. He is a good chief now but he will be a great one if you do not stand in his way. His love for you has long kept him from giving himself totally to his people. This must not continue, Little Flower. His people's needs are much greater than your own."


Winter stared at him in shock, wondering what he'd think if he knew of the child she carried. "What gives you the right to decide how great my needs are?" she challenged angrily. "Who gives you the right to decide how Blaine should live his life? It is his life, you know!" "You are a strong woman, Little Flower," Two Feathers gasped weakly. "You do not need Rising Sun the way his people need him." "Why can't I share him with his people?" A dim smile touched the old man's pale lips as he managed to shake his head. "A great leader cannot be shared. His head and his heart must be of one mind." "You'd like me to make this easy for you, wouldn't you?" Winter snapped. Her eyes flashed furiously as her voice grew tight with scorn. "You'd like me to say I'll disappear so Blaine would devote himself to the Cheyenne and let you die in peace, but I won't! That is Blaine's decision! If he chooses to stay and lead your people, I will honor his decision. I'll go back to my own kind and never try to contact him. "But that is something he will have to decide for himself. I will have no part in blackmail, Chief Two Feathers, not for your peace of mind or for all the Cheyenne nation! You've blackmailed Blaine far too long as it is. It's time he was free to decide for himself." She climbed to her feet and marched stiff-backed into the hot August sun. A path opened up for her as she limped through the crowd, looking for Blaine but he was nowhere to be seen. With a heavy heart, she trudged painfully back to her lodge and sat down to wait. Within the hour the wails outside told her that Two Feathers had died. Blaine was now sole chief of the Cheyenne nation. She felt sick and chewed on her knuckles while bitter tears trickled down her cheeks. Somehow she felt certain that even in death Two Feathers had won.


*** Darkness came and with it the death chant that filled the village with mourning. An eerie quiet settled upon the lodges. Even the camp dogs were silent. No one moved about outside, no cooking fires were lit, only the steady, unbroken chanting and the sound of the drums could be heard. Winter paced the lodge nervously, back and forth, pounding one balled up fist into the palm of her other hand. The drums beat on and on until she thought she'd go mad, but still Blaine did not come. Finally she collapsed from exhaustion and when she awoke it was morning. It was barely dawn and already the heat made the ground steam and the air heavy with an impending thunderstorm. Strangely, Winter felt better than she had in days. Her sore body was less painful this morning, her dry, cracked skin more supple. With a nod, she decided it was time she left the lodge and got some fresh air, even if it was almost a hundred degrees already. Falling into step with the other women as they left their lodges, she inhaled deeply as they followed the worn path toward the river. Two Feathers was dead, she told herself realistically, swinging her empty water pail. Blaine was chief now and probably had all kinds of things to do. That was why he'd not come to the lodge yet. She knew there was some kind of ceremony to take place. It was sure to take lots of time and it was best if she kept busy to pass the time. There were decisions to be made, decisions that could not wait much longer. She touched her stomach with a secretive smile. She had to leave the village soon or tell Blaine the truth before he guessed it. She thought about the school she'd planned to start. It had been such a good idea, one she'd love to bring to life, but that would be impossible


now. She could not stay more a few more weeks before her pregnancy became obvious. In the meantime she'd best concern herself with finding a way to leave. Two Feathers was gone and with him went his hold over Blaine. Her heart began to race with anticipation. They were free! Why hadn't she thought of that before? Blaine was free now of his obligation! He'd kept his word to his grandfather but the old man was dead now, releasing Blaine from that promise. She was free! They were both free! Glancing up, she realized she had come to the river and knelt down to fill her pail. Without realizing it, she smiled at a group of small Indians as they swept past astride stick horses, whooping with childish delight. How she longed to tell Blaine about his child, then her face sobered. He had made it quite clear that children were not part of his future plans. There was a sharp crack nearby but Winter thought at first it was merely a child stepping on a dry stick. When more cracks followed, she realized they were shots being fired from the cottonwood grove a few yards from where the women were filling their pails. Half a dozen women fell to the ground wounded before Winter could react. Then, grabbing up a nearby crying child, she flung herself over him and closed her eyes tightly. More shots rang out but this time they came from the village as the warriors rushed to the river. Many shots were exchanged, then Winter dared raise her head in time to see at least a hundred mounted warriors sweep past. Their horses hit the river amid spine-tingling war whoops, then cleared the water on the opposite bank, rushing head-on at the attacking fire. Almost instantly the shooting stopped as the attackers ran for their horses. Winter heard the pounding of hooves as they lit out across the plains to safety with the outraged warriors right after them.


As the hoofbeats faded, Winter sat upright, clutching the screaming Indian baby to her chest. Scrambling to her feet, she gasped in horror at the sight of half a dozen sprawled bodies on the river bank. Moans of pain and wails of grief made her stomach churn as she stood there frozen in shock. Then slowly her mind snapped into action and she began to soothe the crying baby in her arms as she hurried among the wounded women to see how seriously they were injured. Thankfully, most of the wounds were superficial, she saw right away. Certainly the attackers were not from the army for a trained soldier would have been a much better shot. From the brief glance she'd had of the cowards when they ran for the hills, she'd guess they were miners by their dress. But why would miners attack innocent women and children? Especially when the Cheyenne had remained at peace throughout the Indian wars farther east? It didn't make any sense. Three hours passed before the warriors returned. By that time Winter had attended to the wounds and bandaged them as best she could, in spite of the tribal medicine man's vehement protests. She was rocking a small tearful child in her arms when the pounding of hoofbeats indicated the men were returning. Her heart gave a leap of relief to see Blaine at the head of the mounted warriors, but the look on his face quickly changed her relief to alarm. The man she saw leading the warriors back into camp was a young Cheyenne chieftain, not the man she'd made love with on so many balmy summer nights. Blaine sat on the pinto with the grace of mountain lion, guiding the animal with his knees without benefit of a bridle or a saddle. His lean copper face was lined with fatigue, his eyes dark with fury, his powerful body tense. All he lacked was war paint to complete the picture of a war chief leading his warriors into some savage battle. Then he saw Winter and instantly his eyes warmed as the tension left


his face. He pulled the pinto to a halt in front of her and leaped down. His eyes swept over her to insure she was unharmed, then he caught her upper arms and held her out before him. "Red!" he said in a relieved voice. "Thank God! I couldn't find you when the shooting started! I thought you'd been hurt!" "As you can see, I'm fine," Winter returned coolly. She felt both relieved and furious with him. "Although I suppose I should be grateful that you bothered to miss me." Her accusation hit its mark. For a moment Blaine looked almost embarrassed. He looked away from her piercing eyes in an uncharacteristic manner and shifted uneasily from one moccasined foot to the other. "Winter, I know I've been acting like a jackass. I didn't mean to. It's just that..." "Just what, Blaine?" Winter demanded coldly. She rocked the whimpering infant gently, but her eyes locked on Blaine's in a blatant accusation that would not let him off the hook until he'd answered her. "Have you been so consumed with grief by your grandfather's death that you couldn't come home?" "Of course not!" Blaine snapped angrily. "You know better than that! I stopped caring about that old man a long time ago. His dying didn't change anything." "Then was it because you were forced to kill your cousin? I know that to kill one of your own is the most serious thing a Cheyenne can do. Have you been feeling guilty about that?" Blaine's long raven hair shimmered in the afternoon sun when he tossed his head with a snort. "Hell no! I feel nothing but relief that Shadow Dancer is dead. I only wish I'd killed him sooner so you didn't have to suffer because of him." "Then could it be that Raven's Wing has been keeping you busy at


night?" The surprise that leaped to his face made Winter want to smile, had she not been so angry. "Whatever gave you an idea like that?" Blaine asked incredulously. "The fact that you haven't been to our lodge since I began to recover. And the fact that I've seen you talking to her several times, all nice and cozy. What would you like me to think?" Blaine stared at her for a moment, then reached to take the sleepy infant from her arms and hand him to a nearby woman. He took Winter's arm and led her away from the lodges down the path toward the river. Stopping just short of the place the women had been attacked that morning, he finally turned to her and let go of her arm. "It's got nothing to do with Raven's Wing, or any other woman," he said wearily as he looked down at her belligerent face. Winter waited expectantly with her eyes narrowed suspiciously and her hands on her hips. The discomfort in his handsome face made her wary, but she knew him too well to think he'd lie. Whatever was on his mind, he would be perfectly honest about it, not matter how unpleasant it might be. "I got a message from Denver a day or so after I brought you back to camp, Winter," he began slowly. He looked straight into her eyes even though Winter sensed a growing discomfort in his manner. A lock of silky black hair drifted across his face from the slight breeze that had begun to stir the heat and Winter almost reached to brush it away, then caught herself. "I wanted to tell you then, but you were in no condition. And well, the longer I put it off, the easier it got. Then Two Feathers died. Since then I just haven't found the right time. And then this morning...the attack here at the river..." his voice faded away as he stared over Winter's head at the scene of the attack.


"This message had something to do with me, I take it," Winter prompted when the silence continued for several moments. Blaine nodded and took a deep breath. Reaching into the waistband of his deerskin trousers, he produced a wrinkled piece of paper. "It's the assay report, Winter, from the mine." The instant interest that made her eyes sparkle brought a scowl to his features. "It was pretty much what I expected. There is silver in the mine, Winter. A great deal of it." Winter clapped her hands together in glee. A beaming smile lit her face and made her eyes shine until she saw the glimmer of sadness in his eyes. Her face slowly sobered and her happy smile faded. "How much silver?" "The samples I sent assay out at nearly three thousand dollars a ton," Blaine said gruffly. When the puzzled expression on Winter's face told him she did not fully understand, he shifted uneasily again and cleared his throat. "What that means, Winter, is that you're a wealthy woman. Ben's mine is damned close to being another Comstock Lode." The shock on her face brought a rueful smile to his lips as he handed her the assay report, then stood back to look at her. "It proves too, what I've suspected all along about Marsh Gordon." "I don't understand," Winter said, puzzled. "Gordon faked the initial assay report. Made it look like the mine was just barely worth working. Then he tried to buy it from Ben and killed him when Ben wouldn't sell. "I also found out from a source in Denver that the other miners who were killed with Cheyenne arrows all had mines with potential strikes. It doesn't take much figuring to know the assayer in Gold River was in with Gordon."


"What are we going to do about this?" Winter whispered, looking up at him white-faced and bewildered. "Unfortunately, this doesn't prove Gordon is guilty of murder," Blaine went on with a sigh. "I'm afraid nothing short of a confession will be sufficient to arrest him for Ben's murder or for the others." While Winter stared at him his face hardened, his eyes grew cold and flat. And when he spoke, his voice was as unemotional as if he was discussing the weather. "I've got an idea, Winter, and if it works, Gordon will hang for murder," he said thoughtfully. "What are you going to do?" Winter asked. He did not answer but walked past her and headed down the path back toward the village. "Blaine, wait! You didn't answer me! What are you going to do?" Blaine gave no indication that he heard her. When he kept walking away, Winter hurried after him and clutched at his arm. "You didn't tell me why you've been avoiding me! What does the silver strike have to do with anything? I don't understand." He stopped on the path and turned to look down at her. He reached to cup her face in his hand and gave a strange, sad kind of smile at the questions in her face. "No, Winter, I guess you don't understand," he said in a quiet, strained voice that did not sound like him at all. "But then I didn't really expect you to." Winter's lips worked soundlessly but he'd already walked away. She stared at his erect back moving away from her as she blinked rapidly to keep back confused tears. She was a wealthy woman! Perhaps a fabulously wealthy woman! She could do anything, go anywhere! All her dreams could come true, she thought excitedly. She could go away now and have the baby without


worrying about how she'd manage financially. All her problems were solved, she giggled. Hugging the assay report to her chest, she danced around in a circle like a schoolgirl, laughing aloud at her good fortune. So why was Blaine acting like he'd lost his only friend, she asked herself when the first rush of excitement had passed. Why wasn't he happy about solving the mystery of Ben's death and why had he avoided telling her about this wonderful news? Determined to regain the delight she had known only seconds before, Winter re-read the assay report and turned grateful eyes toward heaven. Thank you, Lord, she said silently. You've kept your end of the bargain. You helped Blaine rescue me from Shadow Dancer and you kept me safe this morning when all the shooting started so I guess it's time I kept my part of the deal. Just as soon as I can, I'm going to leave here. If Blaine chooses to go with me, I'll tell him about the baby. If he decides to stay, I'll go alone and he'll never know. Thanks for providing me with the means to take care of my child. Thanks for making Ben's dream come true. She walked on toward the village with her head bowed in silent prayers of thanksgiving. God had provided the means and now there was nothing she couldn't do if she chose. It wasn't until much later when she lay alone on her sleeping mat that she began to wonder about Blaine's plan to make Marsh Gordon pay for Ben's death. A cold sense of foreboding came upon her that made sleep impossible. Whatever he had in mind, Winter was certain he had carefully thought it out, but that gave her little comfort. Blaine had changed. He wasn't the same man who had come to this village to exchange himself for her. He had become the very thing he'd


vowed he never would be; a Cheyenne chief. She no longer knew him. He had become a stranger since he'd rescued her from Shadow Dancer. Even their passion for one another was no longer enough to bring him to her bed. She lay alone with the assay report that promised her fabulous wealth and total independence and felt more alone than she'd ever felt in her life. Her dreams had all come true, but she felt only emptiness. Shivering in spite of the oppressive heat, she wiped at the streams of tears sliding down her cheeks and wondered why she suddenly felt like her life was ending instead of just beginning.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

When Winter awoke the following morning, the gentle whinny of a horse outside the lodge brought her upright quickly. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she stumbled across the lodge and threw back the flap. Blaine stood just outside saddling the pinto, but it was not his presence that took Winter by surprise. It was the way he was dressed. Once more he was Blaine Dekker, US Marshal. Dressed in faded denims, long-sleeved forest green cotton shirt tucked neatly beneath his wide leather belt and with the familiar gunbelt buckled into place around his waist and tied down to his thigh with the rawhide thong, he looked much like he did the first time she'd seen him on the stage from Canon City. The only thing missing was the black mustache. He smiled at the surprise in her face as he took the stirrup from the


saddle horn and dropped it into place. "Well, good morning, rich lady. How do you feel?" The humor in his voice did a lot to relieve Winter's frame of mind. She lifted a hand to gingerly touch the peeling blisters on her face and made a face. "Better, I think. I missed you last night." His eyes held with hers for a moment, then he made himself very busy inspecting the cinches on the saddle. "I missed you too," he said in a low, serious voice. "Why didn't you come to bed?" "I was riding, thinking, trying to decide what to do about Gordon," he replied. "And have you decided?" He nodded affirmatively. He pushed the Stetson back on his hair and leaned against the pinto, putting most of his weight on one foot. "Yes, I have. It's a simple plan but I think it'll work..with a little luck." "Is it dangerous?" Winter inquired. She moved outside the lodge to stand in front of him, looking up into his intense face, wishing he didn't look so troubled. "Only if it doesn't work," Blaine replied with a thin smile. "Nothing for you to worry about, Winter." "I wish you'd tell me what's troubling you so," she murmured as she stepped closer and put out one hand to press against his chest. "Why can't you confide in me? I thought we trusted each other." "It's not your problem, Winter," Blaine replied curtly. "It's...it's me..it's things in my head that I can't quite straighten out."


"What kinds of things?" His wide shoulders moved in a nervous shrug beneath the dark green shirt. Once more Winter was moved by the lean beauty in his face, by the warmth and perception in his eyes. God, he was the most handsome man! "Silly things. Like who I am, what I am. You know, little things like that." Winter sensed the inner struggle going on inside him and wished she could ease his discomfort. She moved into the circle of his waiting arms and pressed herself tightly to him. With her face buried in his chest, she closed her eyes and squeezed back unexpected tears. His arms felt so good around her, made her feel safe in a way nothing else ever had. She wondered if she'd ever know that secure feeling again. "Where are you going?" she asked to shake off the gloom that had settled over them. "I can't tell you, not now at least. But I'll be back tomorrow, I promise." Winter stepped back to let him put his boot in the stirrup. Blaine started to mount, then thought better of it, and turned back to look into her watchful face. "Don't look so sad, Winter. Things are going to work out. Soon this whole nightmare will be over and you'll be free." He stroked her cheek, touched by the sudden tears that appeared in her eyes. She looked so vulnerable with those great hazel eyes so full of trust and yet so sad. "What about you, Blaine?" Winter asked him in a choked voice. "Will you be free?" "As free as I can ever be."


Winter stared at him and choked back the urge to tell him about their child. Then with a tiny shake of her head, she resolved to keep silent. "No commitments, Blaine? No promises? Live for today and worry about tomorrow when it comes?" she asked with a valiant effort to keep the cynicism out of her voice. "That's a very Cheyenne theory." Blaine studied her upturned face as she squinted into the sun to see him. He saw the fleeting disappointment that consumed her before she looked away. It was unlike Winter to refuse to look him in the eyes. That made him uneasy, as much of her behavior lately had. "Why all the concern lately about commitments?" he asked curiously. "I don't know what you mean," she said defensively. She looked back at him determinedly and squared her shoulders. "Winter, I'm as committed to you as any woman I've ever known," he replied gently. "I don't know what more you want from me." The gentleness in his voice threatened to bring on tears so Winter bit her lip and gathered her courage. "We've had this conversation before and it got us nowhere," she reminded him . "Let's just drop it, shall we?" "All right, Winter," he agreed thoughtfully to her averted face. "We'll drop it for now. But when I've settled with Gordon, I think there's a few things you and I need to straighten out." "Blaine, whatever you're planning to do, please be careful." The urgency in her manner brought a pleased grin to his handsome face. "Why, Winter, if I didn't know better, I might think you're concerned something might happen to me." The teasing tone of his voice did not relieve Winter's fears. Instead of the smile he'd hoped for, Blaine saw only the concern that consumed her.


"That attack on the women and children yesterday," she began hesitantly with a anxious glance at him. "Who would do such a horrible thing? Why would anyone kill women and children? The Cheyenne have remained peaceful throughout this whole bloody business with the Comanche and Arapaho. There's no reason for it." "There is if someone had enough to gain," Blaine replied thoughtfully. He leaned forward and rubbed the pinto's sleek neck to quiet the animal's restlessness. "Those were miners who attacked the women at the river yesterday. I have a lot of unanswered questions about that too, but unfortunately, I wasn't able to catch one of them to get any answers. I'm just thankful that no one was killed." "Yes, it could have been much worse." Winter was relieved he'd dropped the subject of commitments. The last thing she'd wanted was to discuss the matter in depth. She did not know if she had the courage to keep silent about their child if he kept at her to explain. "I have a hunch that we'll know a lot more about that business too when I've finished with Marsh Cordon," Blaine was saying when Winter finally realized he was speaking again. She drew a long breath as she forced a smile. "Whatever you do, Blaine, I'm sure it'll be the right thing," she said with a ring of sincerity in her voice that made Blaine's dark brows arch curiously. "That's quite a vote of confidence," he observed cautiously. There was something different about Winter, he realized, surprised that he hadn't noticed it sooner. His eyes narrowed briefly, a deep furrow appeared in his forehead as he tried to determine just what it was about her that was altered ever so slightly. His intense cobalt eyes swept over her, then came back to rest on her


face. No, he decided, it wasn't her appearance that was changed for except for the peeling blisters, she looked basically the same. Only more beautiful perhaps. It was in her eyes. Something warmer, something wiser, yet a little sad. There was a compassion in her face that had developed since Two Feathers took her hostage. The old hatreds were still there, still lingering in the shadows of her eyes, but with them was a new understanding also. A new sense of perception that had mellowed the old hostility into perspective. Her outrage at the attack on the women of the village was clear evidence of that. "How can I not have confidence in the man who's saved my life more often than I have fingers or toes?" Winter returned snippily. She smiled up at him with her old fire, moving back from the horse. A shadow passed through Blaine's face at her statement and he grew serious once again. "Just hang on a little longer, Winter. It'll soon be over and you can get on with your life. Your life as a rich woman," he added with a thin smile. He drew a long breath and went on. "There's a whole new world opening up for you, Winter. With the money from the silver mine there's nothing you can't do, no place you can't go. No dream too big to be realized. Have you realized what all that money can mean?" Winter looked bewildered. Though his words were simple she sensed an underlying meaning that he was unwilling to put into words. Or unable to. She squinted into the sun, staring at him, but his lean face was devoid of emotion, making it impossible for her to tell what he was thinking. She chewed her lip irritably. As always when he drew that curtain over his face and cut her off without a clue as to his true emotions, Winter felt resentful. It wasn't fair that he could veil his thoughts from her so easily while she revealed everything to him with a mere glance. That was why it was so important that she not be pressured into a


situation where she might reveal the secret she carried locked tightly inside her. Blaine was too perceptive, too intuitive not to notice something was wrong if she let her guard down even for a minute. She doubted she had the strength not to blurt out everything if he questioned her closely. "I've thought about what the money can mean," she answered slowly. "But I don't think I've really absorbed it yet. Right now the only thing I can think of is that Ben's dream has come true. All his hard work and his faith in the mine have been vindicated. Right now that's all that's important." "Yeah, one thing at a time," Blaine said seriously. Then his face brightened and he reached to pull the Stetson down lower over his eyes. The pinto's ears perked up in anticipation, snorting and slinging his head restlessly. "First Gordon, then we'll deal with the future." Winter nodded in agreement, forcing a smile as he moved the pinto a step closer. Blaine leaned down from the saddle and kissed her. One hand cradled her face as his lips moved over hers gently, then insistently when Winter's mouth answered his kiss. Then with a ragged breath, he straightened in the saddle and regarded her solemnly. They exchanged a long, steady look for a moment, then Blaine touched his heels to the pinto's flanks and the animal took flight. Winter stood watching him until he disappeared from view beyond the village. He did not look back but still she lifted a hand in a farewell gesture. "Future?" she asked aloud. "Do we have a future, Blaine? Or has Rising Sun won the final battle?" *** There was an air of mystery in the village all through the next day. An


air of anticipation that Winter gradually became aware of as the afternoon wore on. On her daily trek through the village to the river, she noticed small groups of warriors gathered talking quietly among themselves. Other groups were checking weapons and sharpening lances as if in preparation for a coming battle. Winter tried to question Half Moon about Blaine's mysterious plan, but the Indian woman was much too busy making preparations for Two Feather's burial to bother with Winter's curious questions. So with a growing sense of alarm, Winter went back to her own lodge and sat dejectedly on her sleeping mat toying with a piece of beadwork she'd started, but her mind kept straying to the muted whispers outside the lodge. Something was definitely going on. It seemed everyone in the village knew what it was except her, she thought irritably. Blaine appeared to have informed everyone of his plan but her, for preparations of some kind were being made, but she didn't have the slightest clue as to what they were. It infuriated her. Sometime during the afternoon she drifted off to sleep. When she awoke it was dark and there was a flurry of activity outside. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and hurried to the flap of the lodge to see what the excitement was just in time to see Blaine come out of a lodge a short distance away. There was a grimness in his face as he approached that alarmed her. He looked tired, worn, but there was also a satisfied glitter deep in his eyes that told Winter his mission had proven successful. She hurried outside to greet him. Blaine opened his arms and she went into them eagerly. He hugged her fiercely, kissing her hungrily until Winter grew faint from the pressure of his arms around her body. She pulled back from his embrace, preparing to question him about his


secretive trip, when a commotion farther away caught her attention. Looking past Blaine's shoulder, she stared in shock as Tall Grass and Stalking Elk led a dozen mounted warriors into camp. But it was not the Cheyenne warriors she was staring at; it was the white man mounted between them, hands bound securely behind him. Hatless, coatless, so badly frightened his handsome face was ashen, the prisoner bore little resemblance to the dandified Indian agent she'd dined with so many elegant evenings. "Blaine? What's going on? Why have the warriors brought Marsh Gordon here?" she asked anxiously. Looking back to Blaine's face, the cold savagery she saw in him made her blood run cold. With a startled gasp, she drew away from him as she put one hand to her mouth in alarm. Her movements were lost on Blaine for he was walking toward the in-coming party. Tall Grass halted the group and waited until Blaine reached them to speak. "It is as you asked, Blaine Dekker," the warrior said. "We have brought the agent Gordon." Blaine regarded Marsh Gordon's shocked expression with a grim smile before looking back at Tall Grass. "You've done well, my friend. The Dog Soldiers have finished the preparations. You know what to do." With a brisk nod, the tall warrior dismounted and gestured to his companions. Stalking Elk instantly gave Gordon a shove. He hit the ground with a thud and a pained grunt. Before he could recover enough to sit up, Stalking Elk and a warrior called Black Hawk hauled him to his feet, one on either side, and drug him to where Blaine waited. A sharp nudge in the back persuaded Gordon to drop to his knees. He lifted his head, staring in shock at the man who'd ordered him taken


prisoner. "Dekker! That the hell...?" he gasped. Instantly Tall Grass caught a handful of his hair and yanked his head back until he was staring wild-eyed up at Blaine. "You better learn a few manners, Gordon," Blaine said pleasantly with a cold smile . "And because we're such old friends you can call me by my Indian name---Rising Sun." The shock that covered Gordon's face brought a chuckle of mirthless humor from Blaine. Then as quickly as it appeared, the smile was replaced by a savage snarl as he moved a step closer. "That's right, you son-of-a-bitch! I'm chief of the entire Cheyenne nation. My grandfather died two days ago, leaving me in total control. One word from me and these warriors will slice you into dog meat." Winter could see Gordon's entire life flash before his eyes in those few seconds. He stared up into Blaine's unemotional face wild-eyed, almost blinded by panic. His tongue stabbed at his dry lips as he remembered all the crimes he'd committed against the Cheyenne over the past couple of years. "W-w-w-hat are you going to do to me?" he babbled helplessly. "Do?" Blaine repeated pleasantly. "You needn't worry, Gordon, I'm not going to do anything you don't deserve. Actually, you're getting off lightly, considering that you've stolen from my people and sold their food and blankets to the miners. How does a man pay for the deaths of a half dozen infants who died from hunger and exposure because of his greed?" Gordon's mouth worked soundlessly for a moment, then Blaine nodded to Tall Grass and the tall warrior released his grip on Gordon's hair. Stalking Elk and Black Hawk yanked Gordon to his feet and drug


him across the open area between the lodges until the council lodge loomed in sight. There in front of the large council lodge a tall stake had been driven into the ground. Marsh Gordon's eyes bugged at the sight of it. He tried to break free of his captors but the warriors' grip on his arms was too strong. In seconds Black Hawk and Stalking Elk had lashed him securely to the stake with his arms bound behind him around the pole and his ankles also tied at the bottom. Gordon continued to twitch helplessly but the tight bindings allowed no noticeable movement. His panic-filled eyes searched the sea of copper faces who had closed in around the stake in silent anticipation. The crowd that had been so loud when he first entered the village had grown silent, expectant, now while they waited for Blaine's next move. Blaine walked through the closely gathered Indians to approach the stake. He halted in front of Gordon with a calm, impassive expression. Only the cold glitter in his eyes revealed any emotion, but it was that very glitter that made Marsh Gordon regret every action he'd taken against the Cheyenne. "W...w-what's the meaning of this?" he demanded weakly with a wild-eyed glance at the circle of faces who watched so intently. "You're an intelligent man, Gordon," Blaine answered mildly. "I'm sure you've figured it out by now. But," he added pleasantly, "if you're having trouble with it, I'll be happy to explain. "Put simply, Gordon, this is the Cheyenne measure of justice. You've been tried, convicted, and now it's time to pay for your crimes." "Crimes?" Gordon shouted. "What crimes? What have I done to deserve this?" To his astonishment, Blaine smiled pleasantly, then nodded to Tall


Grass. Immediately a half dozen warriors carried an armful of sticks and laid them at the base of the stake, arranging them in a circle around Gordon's helpless body. "If you want a complete reading of the charges, Gordon, I suppose I can accommodate you. A condemned man has that right, even a weasel like you," Blaine replied in that calm, pleasant manner that Winter had come to recognize as the exterior surface of a deep burning rage held tightly in check. Winter pushed her way to the front of the crowd. Part of her could not believe Blaine could do something so horrible, even as the warriors brought more wood and placed it around the stake. She stared at him in horror, but the cold, unemotional face she saw bore little resemblance to the man she had grown so close to during her captivity. He was still dressed in white man's clothing but the savagery she recognized in him now was totally Indian, totally primitive. "You're guilty of cheating the Cheyenne of the food and medical supplies that were promised them by the government," Blaine was saying to Gordon in that pleasant manner. "You sold those supplies to the miners around Gold River at exorbitant prices, then covered up your theft by juggling the agency's books. You may as well admit it all, Gordon. It's much too late for lies. The truth may not matter to the Cheyenne, but maybe God will find some pity on you if you clean the slate before you die." Gordon hesitated, licked at his lips, then shook his head. Blaine shrugged and motioned for Tall Grass to light the dry wood at the base of the stake. The warrior took a packet of matches from Blaine as he came abreast of him and knelt at Gordon's feet. The flare of a match in the growing darkness illuminated the Indian's solemn features as he touched the match to the wood. Seconds later the dry kindling caught and the fire began to spread


around the stake. Gordon twitched wildly. His eyes bugged even wider as they froze on the flames licking closer to his immobile body. "How about it, Gordon? Do you have any last words?" "My God, Dekker! You can't do this! I'm a white man for God's sake!" Gordon screamed, straining against the rawhide bindings. "Being a white man didn't give you to right to cheat these people," Blaine pointed out mildly. He hooked his thumbs in the wide gunbelt and waited, his eyes narrowed, his expression emotionless as the fire spread. "Children died because of you, Gordon. Helpless children whose only crime was being born Indian." "All right! I did it! I shorted the supplies and sold them to the miners!" Gordon shouted with a downward glance at the flames which were now dangerously close to his trouser legs. "You faked Ben Barrett's assay report, didn't you?" Blaine persisted. He drew closer to the stake, his eyes narrowed and glittering in the eerie firelight as he waited for Gordon's answer. "Yes! For God's sake, Dekker!" "And you killed him when he refused to sell the mine to you." Gordon's once elegantly arranged hair tossed wildly when he nodded. "Yes, yes, I had planted another charge in the mine! I set it off after he went back inside! I killed him! Are you satisfied?" "Not quite," Blaine said calmly. "Who was in it with you? Willy Cooper? Is he the one?" "Yes, Willy Cooper faked the reports and told me when anyone had a


sizable strike! Please, Dekker, don't do this!" Gordon moaned. "And all the miners who were killed with Cheyenne arrows? They all had promising strikes. You had them killed and made it look like Indians did it. Right?" Again Gordon nodded vigorously and licked at his lips. The bottom of his trousers were on fire now. He twisted fiercely at his bonds as his flesh began to sear but it was hopeless. "I thought if people thought the Cheyenne did it, the governor would have to send them back to the reservation! There's silver on this land! Maybe millions of dollars worth!" Winter rushed toward Blaine and clutched at his sleeve. "For God's sake, Blaine, stop this!" she shouted. "You can't kill him like this!" "Why not? He killed Ben, you heard him admit it." "That doesn't give you the right to do this!" Winter argued fiercely with a horrified glance at Gordon's twitching body at the stake. "You've spent your whole life upholding the law! If you do this horrible thing you'll be more of a savage than he is. Don't you realize that?" Blaine caught her wrist and pushed her toward Tall Grass who held her firmly in spite of her violent struggles to free herself and run to Gordon's aid. But Blaine had dismissed her from his thoughts as he turned back to Gordon. "Where were we?" he mused pleasantly, then snapped his fingers and smiled. "Oh yes, I remember now. You sent those goons after me, didn't you?" Following Gordon's affirmative moan, he hooked his thumbs back in the gunbelt, surveying Gordon's panic-stricken features intently. "You sent them after Winter that day at the mine, to scare her away from reopening it. When that didn't work, you offered to finance the operation, only you had no intentions of ever sharing it with her. You intended to make her default on your agreement so she'd be


forced to marry you which would give you total control of the mine." "Yes, yes!" Gordon screamed as the flames licked at his trousers. "I did it! I did it all! Please help me, Dekker!" "Just one more thing. You hired Morales, didn't you? To kill Winter or me, or both?" "Yes, yes!" "And the raid on the village the other day; were you behind that too?" Gordon's head bobbed wildly. His voice was hysterical now as the fire leaped higher along his legs. The pain was intense now, his fear turning him into a mindless, babbling idiot. He was so crazed by panic a dark stain appeared in the crotch of his trousers as he wet his pants. "Yes, oh God! I spread rumors of a Cheyenne attack! Got the miners to strike first!" He sagged against the restraining bindings, bawling for mercy. Blaine stood before him watching with a satisfied gleam in his eyes for a moment, then turned toward the circle of somber faces. "Have you heard enough?" he called to be heard above Gordon's agonized screams. A tall figure in blue elbowed his way through the crowd to stand beside Blaine. Winter's eyes bulged with shock at the sight of the man. She had never seen him before, but the uniform and the medals on his chest told her he was a high ranking officer. "Yes, I believe so, Marshal," the man said pleasantly. "Enough to see this sorry excuse for a man hang."


Blaine smiled and motioned for the warriors. Instantly they kicked the burning sticks away and put out the fire in Gordon's clothes. Gordon hung limply from the stake, babbling incoherently, pleading for mercy with glazed eyes. Winter rushed into Blaine's arms with a strangled cry of relief. She buried her face against his chest, sobbing hysterically at first, then she wiped at her eyes and looked up in his face. "Blaine, I thought...I thought you were going to let him die like that," she whimpered. "I should've known. I'm sorry, forgive me for thinking such a terrible thing." "Shhhh, Red," Blaine said soothingly. He placed his cheek against her gleaming chestnut head and smiled into her hair. "It's all right. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you what I was doing, but your reaction was important to convince Gordon I meant business." The army officer cleared his throat as he extended his hand to Winter when she moved reluctantly from Blaine's embrace. "Mrs. Barrett, I'm Colonel Barnes. Let me add my apology to Marshal Dekker's. It was a terribly unpleasant business but necessary to prove Gordon's guilt." Winter let him take her hand and lightly press his lips to the back of it. Then Colonel Barnes looked back to Blaine. "I owe you and your people a debt of thanks, Marshal, or should I call you Chief? Without your cooperation I'm afraid Gordon might have gotten away with his crimes. Who knows how many more innocent people would have been murdered? Shall I await you in the council lodge?" When Blaine nodded, the colonel followed Tall Grass toward the lodge. Winter looked back at Gordon being cut down and drug away by the warriors. "What will happen to him?" she asked in a shaky voice. "Colonel Barnes will take him to Denver to stand trial and then he'll


hang," was Blaine's satisfied reply. "Go back to our lodge, Winter, and wait for me. The colonel has asked for a meeting of the council, but when it's over I'll be right home. Okay?" he added with a kiss on her forehead. Winter nodded and reluctantly let him walk away toward the waiting council. She wiped the remaining tears from her cheeks and hurried to their lodge to prepare a late supper. Her features brightened and she began humming a tune as she quickly fed sticks to the cooking fire and sliced wild potatoes into the bubbling stew. Her heart felt lighter than it had in days. Blaine had not killed Marsh Gordon, even though she knew how badly he wanted to. His respect for the law he'd sworn to uphold had been stronger than his thirst for revenge. For the first time in weeks Winter believed Blaine Dekker had survived. Perhaps Rising Sun had been put to rest. Perhaps they had a future together after all.

CHAPTER FORTY

It was almost mid-day when Winter awoke the following morning. She stirred beneath the Indian blanket and stretched sleepily. A pleased smile curled her lips as she reached to touch Blaine, then disappeared when she realized he had left the lodge. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. It had been late when Blaine had returned to the lodge after the council meeting, much later when she'd gone to sleep in the circle of his arms. The man who had made love to


her last night was the man she'd grown to love, she thought happily. Funny, how the realization that she loved him had developed so gradually so that when she admitted it to herself now, it seemed so natural that it must have always been there somewhere. The strongest emotion next to love was hate, she thought while she hurried into her clothes. She'd heard somewhere that there was a very thin line between the two emotions, wondering if she had really loved him all those years when she yearned so desperately to see him destroyed. None of that mattered anymore, she reminded herself with a smile. The only thing that mattered now was that she loved Blaine Dekker, or Rising Sun, or both, for she realized finally that the two men were part of the same being. Two different facets of the same personality. Totally separate, yet inextricably woven together into one magnificent man. Yes, he was magnificent, she thought with a smile at the memory of last night's lovemaking. Blaine had always been a magnificent lover, but there was a new tenderness in him last night that made her wonder if he'd finally realized that he loved her as well. She touched her breasts beneath the deerskin dress, remembering how his passion had taken her to new heights. Just thinking about it made her blood race with anticipation as she hurried outside. The silence in the camp quickly reminded her that the tribe would bury Two Feathers this morning. That must be where Blaine was, she told herself as she ran toward the sacred burial grounds beyond the village. When she arrived, panting and out of breath, she saw the people had already gone. Only Blaine remained at the burial site as she approached quietly. The burial grounds were swathed in silence. Even the birds seemed to know this was a solemn occasion and did their part to pay honor to the


old chief by remaining silent. Two Feathers had been buried, as was Cheyenne custom, on a scaffold above ground with his war lance and shield beside him. He had been dressed in his finest clothing and bundled tightly full length in a fine buffalo robe with ropes lashing him to his final resting place. Winter saw that Blaine was holding Two Feathers' war bonnet as she drew nearer. As new chief of the tribe, the extravagant headdress was passed to him at his grandfather's death as a symbol of his position. He was wearing his Indian clothing again, she noticed uneasily. As she got closer, she noticed the hideous scars across his back had darkened during the long summer months of exposure to the sun and were now less noticeable puckers rather than the horrible wounds she'd first seen. His back was straight and regal, she thought proudly as she drew alongside of him. His long raven hair was tied back with a beaded red headband, his muscular thighs concealed by the fringed leather leggings, his biceps accented by the twin silver bracelets with the twinkling turquoise stones. His strong brown fingers held the long war bonnet almost reverently, gently smoothing the eagle feathers. "He wasn't such a bad old man," Blaine said without looking at her. "I'll probably even miss the old bastard." Winter tucked her arm through his, moving closer to his side. She examined his face, but there were no outward signs of grief, just his guarded expression that revealed little of his inner feelings. "Of course you'll miss him. He was your grandfather," she murmured. "He was a very important part of your life." "Funny, I hated him all those years and now I feel...sort of empty. I know he was doing what he thought was best for the people by forcing me back here, but I can't forgive his tactics."


"He's gone now, Blaine. Isn't it time to put it behind you?" Winter suggested. Blaine raven hair shimmered in the bright sunlight as he nodded in agreement. "Yes, you're right. It's over and finished...time to deal with the present." Winter felt a surge of anxiety when he turned from the scaffold and took her hand to lead her back toward the village. His face was thoughtful, even a bit strained when he halted in the path a short distance from the burial grounds. "Colonel Barnes left early this morning with Gordon," he said with a tiny smile. "That just about takes care of that business, I guess." He paused as though searching for the right words before continuing. "The council agreed last night to release you, Winter. You're free. I've arranged for Tall Grass to escort you back to Gold River." "I'm free?" Winter repeated, bewildered. "You're free too, Blaine. Your grandfather is dead, your promise to him is over. We can go back together." Her heart leaped into her throat when he shook his head and put both hands on her shoulders. "Remember, Winter, when I told you to never call the Cheyenne my people?" Following her confused nod, he took a long breath and gave a small shrug. "I was wrong. Part of me is Cheyenne, Winter, and it has nothing to do with the promise I made that old man. I can't leave them, not yet. There's still so much they must learn, so much ground to cover and so little time. Winter will be here long before they're prepared for it." "Then I'll stay with you," Winter said emphatically when he paused for a breath.


"We can start the school like we talked about. With the money from the mine we can build the finest school in Colorado..." Her voice trailed off in mid-thought at the rueful expression that had settled on his face. Her heart was pounding with apprehension. Her nails cut into her hands from the way she had them clinched into fists. "No, Winter. You're going back alone. I can't come with you." "You mean you'll come a little later when you've gotten things settled here?" Winter asked hopefully. Blaine sighed and ran one hand through the shimmering black hair like he sometimes did when he didn't quite know how to proceed. He looked away from her to gather his thoughts, then directed one of those intense cobalt gazes at her that she had come to recognize because of their painful honesty. This time she would have preferred that he lie to her. "Maybe I will come later, Winter, after these miserable, pathetic creatures have learned how to take better care of themselves, but it's time we faced the fact that you and I...well, we don't have a future together." He placed a long copper finger over her lips to still the protest she was about to utter and smiled fondly down at her. His eyes swept over her slender body, then came back to rest directly on her eyes. The anxiety and confusion he saw so clearly in her features sent a pain through his heart but he plunged ahead before he lost his nerve. "Hear me out, Winter, please. This isn't easy for me either," he said gently. Winter nodded, steeling herself for the words she knew were coming, but the pain in her heart cut off her breath, made her feel sick.


"I told you a long time ago that we were from different worlds, remember?" he reminded her softly. "My feelings may have changed, Winter, but circumstances haven't changed. You're a beautiful, vital woman. And now you're a very rich one. There's no place in your life for me, Winter." "That's not true!" Winter denied vehemently. "I love you, I need you." If she had expected him to be surprised by her admission of love, she was mistaken. Blaine's affectionate expression deepened as he cleared his throat but he did not look surprised. "Maybe you love me now, but what about a year from now? Five years from now? Face it, Winter, I'm not the kind of man who could ever fit into the kind of life you'll have now. In just a few days you'll be surrounded with wealthy people. People who'll judge you on the basis of the company you keep. Having a half-breed, tin-horn lawman around would only be an embarrassment to you." "I could never be ashamed of you!" Winter cried defensively. "You say that now but people change. The kind of money you'll have now can do things to people, Winter, make them look at things differently. I've seen it happen too many times not to expect it. You wouldn't mean for it to happen, maybe not even realize it is happening, but it will. It always does." "So it's the money?" Winter asked incredulously. Her eyes began to snap with quick anger. She pulled away from his hands on her shoulders and drew herself up stiffly, glaring at him for having so little faith in her. "Is it the damned silver mine that's made you pull away from me in the past few days? I couldn't understand what happened after you saved me from Shadow Dancer. I thought I had done something wrong, but now I realize that it was only after you learned about the real value of the mine that you became so distant.


"What is it about the money that bothers you, Blaine? Your pride? That's it isn't it? Your damnable Indian pride?" "That's part of it," Blaine admitted with an evasive glance away. "Well, what else?" Winter demanded angrily. "While we're being honest with each other, why not get it all out in the open?" "All right, damn it! It is the damned money!" Blaine flared angrily. His eyes began to sparkle like twin sapphires, his face tensed, the muscles in both jaws twitched when he returned Winter's defiant stare. "I've always thought it was the man's place to take care of his woman, to provide for his family! Good God, Winter, what have I got to offer you? Not a damned thing! I don't even own a place to live. All I've got are the clothes on my back and a horse! " How can I compete with a silver mine that comes close to being another Comstock? What can I possibly give you that you can't go out and buy for yourself? There's a world opening up for you that you can't even imagine right now. You can have everything you've ever dreamed of, Winter. You sure as hell don't need me." "How do you know what I need?" Winter screeched. Her voice rose in pitch as her desperation grew. He was slipping away. She knew it, and the thought of losing him was breaking her heart. "I don't need all that money. I don't need anything but you!" "Winter, you're the strongest, most courageous woman I've ever known," Blaine said in a softer, more gentle tone. He reached out and smoothed her hair, then let his hand move down to cup her chin. "You don't need me. You never have. Not really. Face it, Winter, we're two totally different people. We don't want the same things. "You want a house with a white picket fence and marigolds in the front yard and a husband who comes home every night after work, right on


time, and kids. Those things just don't fit into my plans." "They might if you'd give it a chance," Winter tried to reason calmly. Her heart sank at the stubborn way he shook his head even though she realized he was more right than she wanted to admit. "I might someday, Winter, but not now. I have responsibilities here that I have to see through and you have a world out there waiting for you. You don't belong here and I can't see myself belonging in the world you're going to." "But I love you!" Winter wailed miserably. She choked back a flood of tears that were threatening to reduce her to a bawling female. She knew Blaine would hate that. It was her strength that he admired. If she had to lose him, she had to do it with some degree of dignity. "I'm not good enough for you, Winter," Blaine told her with a rueful smile that broke her heart because it was obvious he really believed those words. "There's a man out there somewhere who can be everything you need. A man who will deserve the love you can give him. Someone who will appreciate what a very special woman you are. But," he added with a long breath. "I'm just not that man." "But I thought you cared for me...I thought...these past few weeks that we...had something special," she managed to say without breaking into tears. "I do care for you, Winter. What we've shared has been something special. I doubt I'll ever find it again, but love isn't always the most important factor. Try to see it from my point of view. If I go with you now, live off your money, I'd be miserable and in the end that would destroy whatever you feel for me now." "Are you saying that your pride is more important than your feelings for me?" Winter challenged with a spark of her former anger.


"Not my pride," he explained softly. " But my self-respect is. If I don't have respect for myself, I can't expect anyone else to respect me and that's about all I've got, Winter. I can't trade it for you or for anyone. It doesn't mean I don't care for you, it just means that I can't be what you want." "What will I do without you?" Winter wondered in a hushed voice. Her eyes brimmed with tears but she wiped them away quickly and took a long, steadying breath. She remembered her vow to God the night Shadow Dancer held her prisoner and reached deep inside for the inner strength to keep that promise. "I love you, Blaine, I'll love you always. But I will honor your wishes. I'll go back to Gold River, for awhile at least, but no matter where I go, you'll go with me, in my heart and in my thoughts. "And," she added with a trembling smile, "the door will be open in case you ever decide that a house with a white picket fence and marigolds and children might fit into your life. Don't write those things off so quickly, Blaine. Someday you may need those things too and if you do, I'll be waiting." She lifted one trembling hand to caress his cheek. She looked deep into his eyes, filing away every expression, each tender word, every moment they'd shared for future reference. Blaine gathered her into his arms and held her tightly until her trembling ceased. Then he held her away just far enough to lift her face up to his. He kissed her softly, savoring the taste of her lips, the feel of her body in his arms. Winter hugged him fiercely as she returned his kiss, then broke free of his arms and ran back along the trail toward the village. She did not look back for she knew he was not watching her leave. Neither of them had the strength for that.


Tears burned her eyes, blurring the pathway, but she wiped them away and hurried on to the lodge. She halted at the sight of Half Moon waiting patiently before the lodge. The snow-white pony was saddled and her things already packed neatly behind the saddle. Obviously Blaine had made his intentions clear to his mother for she looked solemn and sad-eyed as Winter approached. "You did not tell Rising Sun about his child." Winter's mouth dropped open in surprise at the old woman's insightful statement. "H-how did you know about that?" she stammered, wide-eyed with amazement. Half Moon's eyes twinkled at Winter's surprise, then her features sobered when she saw the girl's misery. "Some things are simple to see, Little Flower, for another woman. Men are much too busy to notice." Winter moved past her to check the cinches of the saddle in order to avoid the woman's sharp eyes. "Are you going to tell him?" she asked when her voice had returned. "It is not for me to tell my son of his child," Half Moon answered solemnly. "It is for you." "I can't." "If he knew of the child, he would go with you, Is that not what you want, Little Flower?" Winter turned to look at her then and shook her head sadly. "I don' t want him on those terms, Half Moon," she answered with conviction. She began to feel better about her decision to keep her secret and managed a thin smile. "Blaine doesn't need the same things I do. To


force him to take on responsibilities he isn't ready for is grossly unfair...to him..to me..and to our child. He'd be miserable and he'd grow to hate me." "Your love for my son is great," Half Moon observed thoughtfully. "Do not judge him too harshly, Little Flower. He is a good man." "I know that," Winter replied with a sense of affection for the Indian woman. "Blaine is the best; that's why he must stay here and lead his people. He's right, you know, I am strong. I will have my child and I'll raise him myself. At least I'll always have a part of Blaine, won't I?" Half Moon nodded seriously, then glanced up when Tall Grass rode up to escort Winter back to Gold River. "Go with God, Little Flower. My son's heart goes with you." Winter took a chance on the old woman's disapproval and hugged her quickly. There were so many things she wanted to tell Half Moon, so many grateful thoughts were running through her mind, but she suddenly realized there was no need for words. Half Moon understood exactly how she felt without a single word being spoken. She felt a closeness to the Indian woman that she doubted she'd ever have with another female in her lifetime. Managing a weak smile at Half Moon, Winter quickly mounted the white pony. Following Tall Grass through the village, she saw all those sorrowful black eyes on her and felt an unexpected sense of loss. She was not only losing Blaine but a home and friends. Funny, she'd never expected to have those feelings. Those things were behind her now, she reminded herself as they left the village and crossed the river. Turning the pony north, she wiped at her wet eyes and took a determined breath. Blaine was right; there was a whole world awaiting her. She had a


wonderful future. Money, security, a new baby to love and raise, and some wonderful memories that would sustain her during long winter nights. Her head lifted proudly as she began to loosen the braids that held her hair pulled back. That part of her life was past, she said to herself sternly, she was moving into the future. There was no room for regrets. She put on a shaky smile and drew in a mouthful of fresh mountain air. It was time to think ahead, make plans. For the first time in days she felt peaceful. She'd done the right thing by keeping the baby a secret from Blaine. She'd kept her vow to God and now He was giving her the courage to meet life on its own terms. She'd learned how to do that from Blaine.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Winter looked up from her knitting and smiled at the small child sleeping in the spindle bed across the room. The afternoon sun filled the spacious room with warm light, making it difficult to believe spring was still some time away. She watched her small son sleep for a moment, then returned to her needlework with a sigh. It was March l884. Almost two years had passed since Winter had left the Cheyenne camp. Nineteen months, two weeks, and six days to be exact, she thought with a sad smile as she put aside her knitting and moved to the window. Pulling back the curtain, she looked out upon


Denver and thought about all the time that had passed since she'd seen Blaine for the last time. The Silver Lady Mine had proven every bit as successful as Blaine had predicted. In less than two years it had produced over three million dollars. At the present time it was bringing in close to seventy-five thousand dollars a month. Yet in spite of such grand wealth, Winter did not live like the silver barons of Nevada and Colorado generally lived. Her lifestyle was a simple one. She and little Andrew lived in a large two-story adobe house on a quiet street in Denver, but the house and its furnishings were moderate, though quite tasteful. She had allowed herself the luxury of a few servants, but her home reflected her own taste, not the ostentatious vulgarity that many homes of Denver's rich elite screamed. The house was made of brown adobe, trimmed with white wood shutters and a white balcony outside her bedroom on the second floor. It was well-built, several years old, but sturdy and very comfortable. It was perfect for Winter's needs and she'd bought it immediately upon seeing it for the first time. That was nearly a year ago when she'd first arrived in Denver. She leaned her forehead against the chilly windowpane and let her thoughts drift back across the preceding months. As soon as she'd arranged for a manager to oversee the mine's operations, she'd left Gold River and gone to San Francisco. Andrew had been born there. However, she'd soon tired of the dinner invitations and glamorous parties she'd been constantly invited to and left for the colder, quieter aura of Denver. Denver was growing rapidly due to the incoming railroad and the outfitting of prospectors who flooded the Colorado mountains in search of that one strike that would make them all rich.


Winter smiled at the irony of it all. Hundreds of people stormed the city daily in hopes of becoming rich and all the trappings that wealth would bring while she had escaped those very things by living in a quiet section of town and bringing as little attention to her wealth as was possible. She was still invited to gatherings of the rich and infamous but declined most of them, preferring to stay home with her son. Over the past few months she'd met presidents and princes and nobility but was soon bored by the futilely of it all. She was uncomfortable with such people and preferred the company of her young son to pompous silver kings and their ridiculous displays of wealth. As a result, she'd gained a reputation as somewhat of a recluse. She knew that people attributed her attitude toward socializing to her youthful widowhood. To protect her son, she'd allowed people to think that her husband had been the father of her child, altering the date of Ben's death to concur with Andrew's conception. She was somehow certain that Ben would understand. Her home sat on a large corner lot surrounded by a ten foot brick fence. It was brilliant with flowers in the spring and a green lawn with plenty of room for Andrew to romp about on warm days. With a loving glance at the sleeping child, she left the room and went down the long hallway with its pretty pictures on each wall and descended the long curved staircase with its gleaming mahogany banisters. She passed several green plants in brass plant pots on her way to the library just across from the foyer. This was her favorite room of the house for it was filled with large bookcases containing fine leather-bound volumes of literature. She sat down in a comfortable leather chair beside the window and picked up the book she'd begun reading the day before. Her days were quiet and peaceful, spent reading and playing with Andrew. She was happy here, she thought, when her mind could not


concentrate on the words before her. As happy as she could be. As always, the library reminded her of the mission school where she'd been raised. Where she'd first met Rising Sun, where she'd lost her parents. It also reminded her of the new school she'd financed for the Cheyenne village. No expense had been spared for books or for the salary it took to entice competent teachers to go into Indian country. The school had been praised as the finest in Colorado. That made Winter very proud, yet she had deliberately kept her name anonymous, not wanting Blaine to know it was she who was providing the education the Indian children needed in order to grow up as productive citizens in a new society. She wondered idly if Half Moon wore the clothes she'd sent and if she enjoyed the pearl necklace she'd sent at Christmas time. Her fondness for Blaine's mother had lasted the passage of time, as had her love for Blaine. She looked about at the tasteful, expensive furnishings of her home with a sigh. There was not a single item that she would not trade for just one night in his arms. She'd gladly have given up her entire fortune if Blaine would walk through her front door. She had not seen nor heard from him in all the months that had passed. However, she had kept tabs on him through a contact in the US Marshal's office in Denver. He had been to Denver once to testify at Marsh Gordon's trial but had not come to see her. Although she was fairly certain he had ridden by the house, for she'd caught a glimpse of a man on a pinto pony from her balcony window one afternoon shortly after she'd moved into the house. He'd stopped in front of the heavy iron gates on the street side of the estate, sat looking at the house for a few minutes, then ridden away. She had not been able to see his face from that distance, but there was no mistaking the regal bearing, the grace with which he rode.


Remembering that day, her heart still pounded with excitement. Tears burned her eyes and she irritably wiped them away. It was foolish to cry every time she thought of him. She tried to focus on the book in her lap, but only moments later a polite knock at the library door distracted her again. "Mrs. Barrett, I'm sorry to disturb you," called a soft voice with a French accent from the hallway. "What is it, Yvonne?" Winter answered, grateful for the interruption. "A visitor, ma'am. A gentleman caller." Winter put aside the book with a grimace of annoyance. She crossed the room and opened the door. "Yvonne, if it's Mr. Clairborne, please tell me I'm not receiving visitors this afternoon. If he invites me out once more, I'll scream." "It isn't Mr. Clairborne," the maid in the starched white apron replied. "It's a gentleman from the Bureau of Indian Affairs." Winter's heart leaped into her throat with alarm. Blaine! Something had happened to Blaine and someone was coming to inform her. Her knees felt weak as she put out a hand to steady herself against the door frame. "Did he give his name or state his business?" she managed to squeak at last. "No ma'am," the servant replied crisply. "He did say that he was a friend of yours from Gold River. Does that make any sense to you, ma'am?" Winter did not reply, but swept past the maid into the hallway. She sped along the corridor to the drawing room where she knew Yvonne would have directed her visitor and paused at the open archway with


her hand at her heart. It was like a dream when her eyes focused on the man who waited inside the room. He stood with his back to the doorway where she halted. He was studying the tapestries on the wall flanking the marble fireplace so that only a glimpse of his profile was available to Winter's hungry eyes. The man she saw was vastly different from the one she'd left in leather leggings and a beaded headband so many months before. This man was wearing a three piece suit of a fawn colored fabric and a white silk shirt, completed with a matching tie and gleaming black, knee high leather boots. There was still a slight bulge beneath the fashionable coat where the Colt .45 rested, but the shiny tin badge was missing. "Blaine!" Winter breathed, then held her breath when he turned toward the sound of her voice. She fought down the urge to throw herself into his arms, trying to remind herself that it was only a social call. Perhaps nothing more, but perhaps... "Winter!" Blaine said. He stared at her silently for a few seconds, then remembered his manners and swallowed. "Winter, I hope you don't mind that I came by without notifying you first." He paused as he grinned in embarrassment. "The truth is, I was afraid you wouldn't see me if I gave you time to think about it." Winter came to her senses and walked into the room, still unable to take her eyes off his handsome copper face. This was a more elegant version of the man she'd first met on the stage from Canon City. His shimmering black hair was still longer than was fashionable, but was considerably shorter than the last time she'd seen him. His lean frame filled the suit to perfection with just the right amount of elegance to offset the blatant masculinity that he exuded. The neatly trimmed black mustache was back in place above his upper lip.


"Blaine," she repeated foolishly, then wet her lips and pulled her scattered emotions together. "Of course it's perfectly all right that you came by. How nice to see you." As Blaine walked toward her, she realized for the first time that he was holding a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a box of candy in the other. Winter stared him in shock as he offered the gifts to her, then reached to take them. "Thank you," she murmured to cover her embarrassment. "How thoughtful of you." "Well, I didn't know which you'd prefer so I brought both," Blaine said nervously. "It's wonderful to see you," they both said at the exact same moment, then broke into embarrassed grins. "You first," Winter offered as she buried her face in the winter roses. "Well, I was in Denver on business and I thought I'd come by to see you," Blaine said with more of his old confidence. "You look great, Winter. I can see that wealth agrees with you." Winter realized the maid was waiting in the doorway behind her and turned to instruct her to bring tea into the library. Yvonne disappeared immediately and Winter gestured toward the hallway. "I have something a bit stronger if tea doesn't appeal to you," she said as she led the way to the library. "No, tea is fine," Blaine returned politely as they went into the comfortable room and Winter closed the door behind them. She indicated that he should take the leather chair by the window but Blaine shook his head.


"I'll stand if it's all right with you. I'm too nervous to sit down," he said with an embarrassed grin. "Ah, hell, Winter," he said a second later. "I'm no damned good at this polite small talk. I don't know any way to do this except just to come out and say what I came here to say." "Please do," Winter said in a faint little voice as she sank into the leather chair. Her heart was pounding so hard she could hardly breathe and her knees were too weak to support her any longer. "I didn't come to Denver on business," Blaine explained with a slight shrug. "I came here to see you. I've made a dozen trips past this house until I found the courage to come in." "You?" Winter asked breathlessly. She stared up at him with her eyes filled with wonder. "You're not afraid of anything." "The hell I'm not. I'm shaking right now. I was afraid you wouldn't see me." "Why wouldn't I see you?" Winter countered with a pleased smile. "I love you, Blaine. I've always loved you. I can't tell you how many times I've dreamed I'd open the door and find you there." "Even after all this time?" The seriousness in his voice made Winter's eyes sparkle. "Yes. I told you that I'd love you always. All the time and all the money in the world hasn't changed that." "Yeah, the money. I understand you're a millionaire, Winter. The mine has paid off even better than I'd anticipated," Blaine remarked uneasily. "This place is...not what I expected." "What did you expect, a mansion with marble statues in the front lawn


and gaudy paintings of naked women everywhere?" Winter asked with a giggle in her voice. "I don't know exactly. But this house is...well, it's like you. Warm and comfortable and homey, I guess. I guess that sounds dumb." "I'm glad you like it," Winter replied with relief. She waited until the maid had served the tea, then looked up at him, gesturing to a comfortable chair near her own. "It's comfortable and we like it," she added, then bit her tongue at the slip. "How are you, Winter?" Blaine asked in that quiet voice that Winter remembered so well. Her palms began to sweat when their hands brushed as he picked up the delicate china cup and sipped at the hot tea. "Fine, fine. As you can see I'm not terribly interested in the social life of the Denver registry. I prefer my quiet life to all that gaudy glamour. I guess I'm just not the social butterfly." "So I understand. I hear you've had a dozen chances to marry some rich bureaucrat but you've turned them all down. Any special reason?" "You know the answer to that," Winter replied quietly. She set her cup down on the silver tray and looked at him directly, still mesmerized by his intense cobalt eyes. "No man could ever take the place of the one I loved and lost. Love like that comes along only once in a lifetime if you're lucky. I was lucky once." She detected a glimmer of pleasure in his eyes as he put the cup down and stretched his long legs out in front of him. "I know you were the one who financed the school at the village, Winter. Thank you. It's given dozens of kids hope." "I'm glad," Winter murmured with downcast eyes. "That's what my parents would have wanted. That's why I did it. I'm glad you


understand." She wet her lips and looked at him again. "Why the flowers and the candy, Blaine? Surely you didn't think you had to impress me." Blaine looked a bit embarrassed, then his eyes started to sparkle with humor. "A good friend told me once that I didn't have an ounce of romance in my soul. That's a flaw I'm trying to correct. I just hope I'm not too late." "Are you trying to ask me out?" Winter asked hopefully. "Yes ma am, as a matter of fact I am," he answered with a relieved expression. "I hoped you might have dinner with me tonight..if you're free, that is." "I am free and I'd love to have dinner with you. What would you think of having dinner here? Just the two of us, I mean. I'm sure Gertrude can whip up something." "Gertrude?" Blaine repeated with a grin. "You have a cook named Gertrude?" Winter giggled at the teasing expression on his face and nodded. "Yes, and I have a gardener named Hozea and a maid named Yvonne. "What do you think of my idea for dinner?" "I accept," Blaine answered quickly, much to Winter's delight. Then he stood up and paced the room before looking back at her. "Look, Winter, I've got something to say so just hear me out, okay?" Following her affirmative nod, he cleared his throat and hooked his thumbs in his belt after halting in front of her. "Winter, it took me a long time, but I've finally accepted the fact that I'm only half a man without you. Hell, those first few weeks after you left the village I thought I'd go crazy. I missed you so damned bad, but I kept telling myself it would pass, that I'd get over you, but I didn't.


Every day was worse than the last and every night so long I thought they'd never end. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that I love you, Red. Who am I kidding? I've been in love with you since I was twelve years old. It was bad enough losing you then, but I knew I'd done the right thing. "Then when I saw you on that stage in Canon City, I knew I was doomed. I almost died when you married Ben. I wanted to kill him at first, but I kept telling myself how much better off you were with him. He loved you and he broke his back to make you happy and I learned to live with that. Even convinced myself that I didn't care anymore until you lost the baby and Ben died. "After that I had to admit that I cared about you. I'd have done anything to protect you..." "You did," Winter interjected with a beaming smile. "But it wasn't until my grandfather forced me to come back to the village that I could let myself reach out for you. Oh, I pretended that it was all part of a role we had to play to save ourselves, but I was so damned proud when you agreed to marry me, even if you didn't believe it was a real marriage. "The first time I made love to you, Winter...God, I thought God had opened up heaven and showered me with all it's blessings. It was the first time I ever made love to a woman that it meant anything. Can you understand that? It was like I was experiencing it for the very first time. Everything took on a new meaning." "Then why did you send me away?" Winter asked softly. Her eyes were brimming with happy tears and her throat ached with the urge to tell him that she'd felt those very same things, but his urgency kept her silent; This might be the only time she'd ever hear those words and her heart needed desperately to savor each one.


"Because I thought I was doing the right thing for you...and for me too," Blaine answered without pausing to think of the appropriate words. Now that he'd started talking, the words tumbled over each other in their urgency to be heard. "I didn't have anything to offer you, Winter, I told you that. You deserved so much more than I could give you." "What's changed your mind now?" Winter couldn't help asking curiously. "Too many miserable lonely nights alone," he answered with a rueful glance at her upturned face. "I finally found out that I loved you more than my pride or my responsibility or anything else. "I've been a fool, Winter. I've wasted so much time. Do you think you can ever forgive me for that? I'll do anything you want. I'll get married in a big church ceremony with a priest if you want. But if you'll give me another chance I swear you'll never regret it." "What about all my money?" "Well, I can see that all that money hasn't changed you, Winter, like I thought it would. I misjudged you and I'm sorry for that. Besides, I've got a new position that pays pretty well." "With the Bureau of Indian Affairs?" Winter prompted cheerfully. Now that her broken heart had been mended, she was beginning to enjoy this new, romantic side of him. She'd never known he could be this open, this honest about his innermost feelings. She reveled in the knowledge that he did love her almost as much as she loved him. "Yes," he affirmed with a pleased nod. "The governor offered me the position a few weeks ago and I snapped it up. It pays well and it offers me the dignity of doing something important."


"Are you still chief of the Cheyenne?" "Yes, but Tall Grass is acting chief in my absence. The council decided I could do more good for the people here in Denver than I could in the village so they voted for me to take the position. "What do you say, Winter?" "About what?" she hedged with a secretive smile. "About marrying me?" Blaine asked, exasperated. Winter rose from her seat and took both his hands in hers and looked up into his expressive cobalt eyes. "Do you love me, Blaine?" she asked softly. "Yes, hell yes, Red. I love you more than anything in the world." "Enough to settle down in a house with a white picket fence with marigolds in the yard?" "Sure," he answered with a confused expression at the smile on her beautiful face. "What about children?" "Sure, I guess so. I don't know what kind of father I'll be, but I'm willing to give it a shot if that's what you want," Blaine answered, staring at her curiously. "Good, I'm glad to hear that," Winter replied with a secretive giggle. She slipped into his arms and pressed her face into his chest with a contented sigh. "Oh, Blaine, you don't know how often I've dreamed that this would happen, that you would come back into my life and tell me you love me


as much as I love you. "Now it's happening, just as I prayed it would," she added with an upward glance into his handsome face. The rich gleam in his eyes made her heart sing for he was allowing her a glimpse into his soul for the first time. What she saw made all the waiting worthwhile. "I'm only sorry that I waited so long," Blaine murmured into her warm chestnut hair. "I'm sorry that I hurt you, Winter, that was the last thing I ever meant to do." "I know," she replied confidently. "But that's all behind us now, darling. We can put all that into the past and look only to the future; our future together. Oh, Blaine, it will be so wonderful!" She caught the uneasy expression that passed through his face and pressed more closely against him. "If my money makes you uncomfortable, darling, we'll not use it. I don't want to do anything that will make you uncomfortable. I only want you to be happy," she assured him quickly. "Winter, it would be pretty selfish for me to keep you from enjoying your wealth," Blaine answered seriously. "You worked damn hard for that money, and you suffered for it. Ben died for it. I don't have the right to interfere with that. I just don't want people to think that I married you for your money." Winter looked surprised, then pleased and snuggled her face into his chest. The strong beat of his heart beneath her cheek warmed her as she had not been warmed in a very long time. Her eyes filled with happy tears as she let her fingers run lovingly over the hard muscles in his shoulders beneath the tailored coat. "Blaine, the most important thing I've learned since that day you sent me away from the village was that all the money in the world means nothing without you. I'd rather be a pauper in a tar-paper shack than be


a millionaire in a mansion if it means the difference between being with you or being without you. I'd give up every single cent I have if I can be with you," she said in a firm, clear voice. "Well, I don't think you need go quite that far," Blaine told her with a grin over her head. "I'm sure we can work all that out. Like I said, I've got a good job now, one that pays well enough to support a family. But that's not what's important, Winter. What's important is that I love you and I never want to be without you again Everything else is so trivial I don't want to waste anymore time worrying about it." "In that case there's something I'd like to say to you," Winter said as she leaned back and took both his hands in hers. She looked up into his eyes and smiled. "I promise you that whither thou goest, I will go, my love; and whither thou lodgest, I will lodge. Thy people shall be my people and thy God my God. Where thou diest, will I die and there will I be buried. The Lord do so to me and more also, if aught but death part thee and me," she said reverently and with heart-felt gratitude to God for hearing her prayers. "From the Book of Ruth?" Blaine asked with a pleased smile. "Yes, it was true all those thousands of years ago and it's still true today. I love you, Blaine, and I'll never be apart from you again." Their lips met in a passionate kiss, hungrily savoring the taste of each other's mouths. Winter pressed tightly along the long hard length of his body and blissfully gave herself to the ecstasy of being in his arms again. Her heart was so full of love, her soul finally at peace for she was certain that her dreams had come true at last. The man she loved was in her arms and she'd never again have to let him go. "'Mrs. Barrett," came a soft voice from the doorway preceded by a discreet cough. "Master Andrew has awakened from his nap and is asking for you, ma' am."


"Master Andrew?" Blaine repeated in a bewildered tone as he looked at Winter's beaming face. "Who is Master Andrew?" Winter slipped her hand into his and led him toward the doorway. "Master Andrew is someone I've waited a long time to introduce you to, my darling," she said with a secretive smile. She squeezed his hand, smiling at the confused curiosity on his handsome face. "He'll be very pleased to meet you. I'm told him so much about you I bet he'll recognize you at once. I'm certain you'll recognize him," she added at the thought of her young son's cobalt blue eyes so like the ones she was looking up into now. "I think the two of you will get along famously." She gave him a secretive, radiant smile and led him up the stairs to meet his son.

THE END

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