Cheyenne Caress

Book 0: Hologram

by Georgina Gentry

Genres: Historical Fiction; Sagas; Historical Romance

Synopsis

VULNERABLE GIRL Even though seventeen-year-old Luci hadn't a friend in the world, the slender, willowy half-breed knew she could handle herself with anyone—anyone except Johnny Ace. The full-blooded Pawnee scout's heated glance made her shiver with fear and a tingling sense of anticipation. When he appeared in her quarters, she tried to run away, but she couldn't escape his demanding embrace. She shrieked that she detested him. . . but Luci's body spoke much more eloquently of her desire! VENGEFUL SCOUT Because they had killed his father, Johnny Ace had sworn to forever call the Cheyenne his enemy. Even though that part-Cheyenne laundress at For MacPherson was sexy and alluring, the Indian tracker knew he could never harbor tender thoughts about the chit. Then he came upon her all alone, and instantly lust raced in Johnny's veins. Before he could reconsider, the virile male was clasping his beautiful prey. Damning the consequences, he ravaged her mouth with kisses, eager for the moment when he would enjoy her fiery, tempestuous CHEYENNE CARESS.

Release date: May 16, 2014

Publisher: Splendor

Print pages: 480

Sample

Sunrise Woman lay dying and there was nothing Luci could do but sit by the cot in the back room of the trading post and hold her mother’s hand. What would happen to her when her mother died?

Luci sighed and leaned over to pull the ragged blanket up around Mama’s thin shoulders.

What a place to die, Luci thought forlornly, looking around at the heaped-up burlap bags, piles of potatoes, and cartridge boxes. If she craned her neck a little, she could see the group of men playing cards by the pot-bellied stove in the main room.

Oblivious to her trouble, the men slapped cards down, drank, and laughed.

“Damn, Johnny Ace! For an Injun, you sure know how to play!”

“Whose deal is it, anyway?” A third man snapped.

“Mine,” said a fourth.

The first man slammed his glass on the table. “Is there any more whiskey?”

“That we always got!” Old Mr. Bane cackled, pushing his chair back.

The noise seemed to disturb the feverish woman on the cot. Sunrise twisted restlessly and cried out.

“Please, Mama, be quiet!” Luci implored. “Else Mr. Bane is liable to throw us out and we have no place to go.”

Miserable as the storage room was, being out in the raw spring weather here in Nebraska would be worse.

The big Indian at the card table twisted around curiously, looking her way. “What’s going on in there anyway, Bane?”

Bane shrugged, scratched his chin stubble. “Aw, just that squaw who showed up a couple of weeks ago, Johnny. Does laundry for the soldiers. I been givin’ her and her half-breed daughter a cot in exchange for cleanin’ up the place.”

“Oh, that pair.” Johnny Ace looked her way again and she thought she saw disdain mixed with sympathy on his bronzed face. “Cheyenne?”

Of course she was Cheyenne. And he was Pawnee: blood enemy of her people. Luci’s lips curled in scorn. She’d heard he was the best of the cavalry’s Pawnee scouts.

Sunrise moaned again and thrashed. “I–I sorry about the money. . . . When I get well, we earn more. I promise this time, we buy clothes and books for you. When your father returns . . .” Her voice trailed off as she lapsed back into unconsciousness.

Automatically Luci brushed back her mother’s gray-streaked hair. Sunrise looked so old, but she was not yet forty. When your father returns. Her mother was such a pathetic fool. Once Sunrise had been a pretty, young girl and a cavalry captain had promised her everything. But all he had given her before he left was his child.

“There, there, Mama, it doesn’t matter about the money.” Tears overflowed Luci’s bright blue eyes. How many times had Sunrise made that promise and how many times had she broken it as she drowned shattered dreams in whiskey?

For her seventeen years, all Luci could remember was the miserable existence of drifting from fort to fort while Sunrise looked for the love who had deserted her. If it hadn’t been for a kindly chaplain’s wife at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, Luci would have gotten no schooling at all.

If she only had money for the doctor. Luci sponged off her mother’s face with a wet rag. Anyone could see Sunrise had caught pneumonia hanging laundry out in the raw spring wind. At least she might die more comfortably. But without money, the post doctor had refused to come.

Sunrise moaned loudly and some of the men in the next room grumbled. “Damn, how can we enjoy ourselves with that squaw moanin’ and carryin’ on? Bane, can’t you shut her up?”

“I could throw them out, I reckon.”

“No.” She heard the Pawnee scout’s deep voice. “Let me see about it.”

Luci heard his chair scrape back and felt the vibration of his large frame crossing the floor boards. Then Johnny Ace towered over her in his moccasins. “Can I do anything to help, Star Eyes?”

“A Pawnee help a Cheyenne? And don’t call me that!” She sneered and glared up at him.

“Why not? It fits you.” His chest was broad in the butter-soft buckskin shirt over a pair of blue cavalry pants. “Stop bristling like a porcupine. I’m trying to keep them from throwing you out in the weather.” Johnny Ace ran one big hand through his ebony hair, which was cut short like a white man’s.

She jumped to her feet. “Go away! I don’t need help from a tracker and killer of my people!” If she snarled at him, maybe he wouldn’t see how alone and helpless she felt. The soldiers knew Sunrise Woman carried a knife and could use it expertly. But with her mother dying, Luci felt like a baby rabbit in a pen of coyotes.

“Small One, you dare insult me? I ought to . . .” His voice trailed off and his big hand reached out, grabbed her shoulder.

His fingers burned through the worn, faded calico of her dress. Was his mouth as hot as his hand? If he pulled her close and ripped the calico away, would his body be warm and hard on her soft breasts?

Immediately she was furious with herself for the feelings that rose in her. But she had affected him, too. Innocent as she was, she understood the way he looked at her, and saw the hard bulge in the tight blue pants. If the scout decided to drag her over in a corner on a pile of burlap bags and ravish her, no one in the next room would come to her aid. In fact, they’d all want their turn.

Would he share her with the others? He gazed down at her intently as his strong fingers dug into her flesh. Luci had a sudden feeling he was going to pull her to him and kiss her; molding her pliant body all the way down his virile hardness whether she wanted it or not. What made her so confused and angry was that she wasn’t sure she didn’t.

He was a enemy, a killer of her people. If she didn’t pull away, he was going to jerk her into his embrace and she didn’t know if she could stop him . . . or wanted to.

With effort, she twisted out of his grasp. “You big, stupid Pawnee. How dare you touch me?”

Before her withering words, he seemed to falter–unsure of himself for the first time. He rubbed his hand across his left ear absently. “That’s what I get, I guess, for pitying a Cheyenne.”

If nothing else, Luci was proud. That was all she had; her pride. “Get out of here, you soldier scout; you wolf for the army!” She spat at him and backed away, bristling like a small, scared kitten.

For a moment she thought he might strike her and she realized the big man could be pushed only so far before he was dangerous. Everyone on the frontier had heard of the scout called Johnny Ace who was known for his remoteness, his ability in a fight.

From the next room, a voice called, “Hey, Johnny, shall we deal you in or not? Need any help with that little gal?”

He just stood there, shaking with anger, rubbing his head as if it hurt. “I ought to take that pride outa you,” he almost hissed, “but damn, the pride is what I like best!”

Then he turned on his heel and strode back into the other room.

“Deal you in, Johnny?”

“No, I’ve got to see Major North. Weather looks like we’ll be getting a late snow.”

Luci craned her neck, and saw the tall scout pause with his hand on the doorknob. “If any of you have ideas about that girl; don’t.” The unspoken threat of his tone was evident.

“Sure, Johnny, sure,” a chorus of voices mumbled.

The big scout went out, leaving Luci glaring after him. A Pawnee. A damned Pawnee. A scout for the soldiers who hunted down her people. Luci reached over, took the small knife from Sunrise Woman’s belt, and tucked it in her own clothing. Before she let a hated enemy take her virginity, Luci would kill him!

Her mother’s eyes flickered open. “I–I heard,” she whispered weakly. “Luci, you must find your father. He have same name. . . . Look after you.”

“Like he did you?” Luci retorted with sudden anger and was immediately contrite. “Oh, Mama, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean–”

“I know.” Her trembling hand stroked Luci’s hair gently. “You not be safe with me gone. If nothing else, go back to our people. I have a brother with the outlaw Dog Soldiers, Ta Ton Ha Haska. He disowned me because of my love for the white soldier.”

“Yes, Mama, yes.” Luci only half listened. She had been raised around the white forts, had seldom been among her tribe. She barely spoke her own language. Could she fit in, find happiness among the Cheyenne, who were now on the war trail, fighting a losing battle against the Iron Horse that whistled and smoked across the vast buffalo plains? Well, maybe. . . .

The other alternative was to risk the same fate as her mother-become a pretty plaything to warm some soldier’s bed until his frontier duty was over. Then he would go back East, deserting her without a backward glance. But there were worse things. That big Pawnee might force himself on her, make her submit as warriors had always conquered enemy women.

She’d kill him if he tried. Holding the small knife in her red, work-worn hand, Luci buried her face in the tattered blanket, and wept softly so as to not disturb her dying mother.

Johnny Ace hesitated outside, looking toward the major’s office. The wind picked up out of the north. He felt it blow cold on his dark, high-cheekboned face. There was a good chance of a late storm moving across the barren plains.

He leaned against a post out of the wind and slowly rolled a cigarette. Without thinking, he rubbed his ear again. Big, stupid Pawnee. Once again he was in the white man’s boarding school, an orphaned boy with no one to protect him. When he made mistakes in his lessons because he knew so little English, the stern Miss Platt had struck him again and again along side his head with her ruler.

The teacher’s pale eyes had almost seemed to relish her action. Big, stupid Pawnee boy, she would say in front of the others. Big, stupid Pawnee. He didn’t know which hurt worse-the ruler slammed with all the white woman’s strength across his ear, or the humiliation of her words before the other students.

So why was he putting himself in a position to be humiliated again? Johnny finished rolling the cigarette and lit it, relishing the taste. The other Pawnees would be gathering to eat now, but Johnny always felt like an outsider. The years in the boarding school had made him a white man in a brown man’s skin.

His mind went back to the fiery half-breed girl, wondered about her. She had pride, like he himself. Even when Miss Platt had made his head bleed, he had never cried. His pride would have kept him silent if she had tortured him to death.

Damn little Cheyenne. He was Pawnee in his heart after all because he thought of her as his enemy just as the two tribes had been enemies for many generations. The Pawnee were a small tribe, struggling constantly to withstand their old enemies, the Cheyenne and the Sioux. Almost the only ally the Pawnee had found was the white cavalry so the braves tracked and scouted for the soldiers. Without the army, the Pawnee would have long ago been wiped out. The Cheyenne and the Sioux were as many as the snow flakes that were beginning to swirl from the sky onto his eyelashes.

He took a deep puff, watch the occasional snowflake fall in the growing twilight. Lights flickered on gradually in the buildings of the fort. Across the square at the trading post, the card game had broken up. He watched handsome Chief Scout “Buffalo Bill” Cody come out of the door with some of the others and stride toward the barracks where dinner and maybe a snort of whiskey awaited them.

Johnny studied the glowing tip of the cigarette. Cody was a good sort, but not a close friend. The Pawnee, Asataka, whom everyone knew as Johnny Ace, didn’t have any close friends. He was a loner.

Star Eyes. He couldn’t get her off his mind. What he ought to do was go back over there, throw her down on some burlap bags, and rape her until his body was sated. Then he could forget her. He’d break that pride of hers, make her submit and beg mercy. He wouldn’t ask, he’d take.

That was what he ought to do. But he didn’t move. He thought about the girl’s mother with a twinge of pity. Same old story. Everyone had heard about the drunken Cheyenne woman who wondered from fort to fort like a crazy woman, looking for some soldier who had used, then deserted her. She had a little white blood in her background herself; he thought, remembering Sunrise Woman’s light skin. Somewhere a long time ago, some trapper had enjoyed Sunrise Woman’s grandmother or great-grandmother. And now the result of all this was a small, slight girl with eyes the color of stars. A damned Cheyenne.

With annoyance, he flipped the cigarette away, strode toward Major North’s office. For a long moment he hesitated before rapping sharply on the door.

“Come in.”

Johnny entered and stood with feet wide apart, one hand resting on the knife in his belt. The slightly built young officer looked up from behind his cluttered desk. Frank North wore a small mustache to make him appear older than his late twenties, which was also Johnny’s age.

“Hello, Johnny, my heart is glad to see you.” Major North spoke fluent Pawnee, better than Johnny himself. He stood and held out his hand to shake, then gestured to a chair. “Sit down. We’ll smoke, and talk.”

“We did not get much chance to talk on the last campaign, Pani Le-shar.”

Pani Le-shar. Pawnee Chief. Only one other white man besides Frank North had ever been honored with that title-Fremont, the Pathfinder-and that was long ago, before Johnny’s time.

“No wonder.” The major smiled, switching to English as he seemed to remember Johnny’s language problem. “The Cheyenne have been raising hell all up and down, haven’t they? Just one scrimmage after another.”

Johnny hesitated, looking from the major’s piercing eyes down to the floor. He had an overpowering urge to get up and leave. But as he hesitated, he saw bright blue eyes in his mind, eyes the color of stars, full of desperation . . . and hate for himself. “Pani Le-shar, we have ridden together much time, fought the enemy of the whites and Pawnee together.”

“More than two years,” North mused, scratching his head in memory. “Remember Plum Creek?”

“Who could forget how the Cheyenne Dog Soldiers lay in ambush for the inexperienced blue coats they thought were riding into their trap?”

North laughed aloud. “And the looks on their faces when those green troops they thought were riding in formation suddenly threw off the blue coats and were Pawnee warriors instead! You gave them more than they bargained for!”

“And will again, next time we go out, Pani Le-shar.”

“Cheyenne,” North mused, and made the sign language for that tribe absently, his right fore finger making stripe marks against his left. “My Pawnee brothers are the world’s best scouts.” He made the sign for Pawnee and scout: two fingers held up behind his head like ears.

How was he to ask this? While Johnny pondered, the major reached for a box on his desk and offered Johnny a cigar. Then he lit it for Johnny and leaned back in his chair, waiting patiently. It was good manners among the tribes to sit quietly, waiting for the other to finally bring up the reason for his visit.

Johnny took a deep drag of the savory smoke and wondered how to bring it up. “Pani Le-shar, did you see the girl carrying the laundry basket across the square when we first rode in several days ago?”

“The small one with the bright blue eyes?” He tipped his chair back, and put both hands behind his head. “That’s Lucero. The pair hangs around first one fort, then another. Her mother is a little crazy, I’m told, and keeps searching for the soldier who deserted her.”

“The mother is dying,” Johnny said, blowing smoke toward the ceiling. “She lies in the dirty storage room of the trading post. There doesn’t seem to be anyone who cares.”

Frank North’s eyes were bright with curiosity, but he only shrugged. “The pair are tame Cheyenne, but we fight their people every day. Is the girl so desperate for help, she asks you, an enemy of her people?”

“Hardly.” Johnny smiled in spite of himself, remembering the girl’s spunk and fire. “She spat at me and acted like a kitten cornered by a dog. She called me a big, stupid Pawnee.”

Without thinking, he put his hand protectively to his head, almost as if he could feel the white teacher’s ruler striking and humiliating him before the whole class.

Frank North chewed his lip. “If you’re asking me to throw that pair out into the cold or run them away from the fort because of the way she treated you–”

“I do not ask that, Pani Le-shar,” he blurted without thinking, although it was rude among Indians to interrupt someone who was speaking.

“I see,” North said, but the expression on his puzzled face betrayed that he did not understand what it was that Johnny wanted. “Very well, I will punish the girl in any way you ask, short of throwing the pair out into the cold. Although I fight her people, I cannot do that to helpless women. For you, my best and bravest scout, I will take action against her.”

Johnny studied the tip of his glowing cigar. He should get up and leave now. He owed the little spitfire nothing. Her people and his had been enemies for generations. She had been so pathetically brave, snarling at him when he could break her small back across his knee with one stroke of his big hands. “As far as action, Pani Le-shar, there is one small quarters for soldier families available on this post. Could-could the army pretend not to notice while you move the pair into that?”

Major North brought his chair down on all fours with a loud bang. “Let me get this straight, after she spat at you and insulted you, you ask that I do her a favor?”

“Not even a Cheyenne should have to die like a dog,” he mumbled. He had known the major would be surprised and curious. No one hated that tribe like Johnny Ace. And he had good reason.

The major only stared back at him in wide-eyed shock.

Johnny looked away. “I admire her spunk, her pride.”

“Ahhh!” The major nodded and his smug tone said that now he understood. “She is very pretty, too. Well, the victors have always enjoyed the losers’ women. It’s just one of the spoils of war.”

Johnny tried to appear careless. “I have not looked at her much. She is just a girl, that’s all. Someone should make her more obedient, break that pride.” He thought about it a moment. Her stubborn pride was what he liked best about her. He, too, had pride. That was the only thing that had sustained him all those miserable years in the white man’s school.

North shrugged. “You’re my best scout, Johnny. If you want her, take her a couple of times until you’re tired of her. No one will listen if she tries to complain to me or General Carr.”

Johnny had a sudden image of her small, slender body spread beneath his big, dark one. Was she a virgin? Possibly, as young as she was and with her mother a little loco and always carrying a knife. The men would be afraid to bother Luci. That’s what he should do-drag her into his room and humble her, smear her with his seed, force it deep into her womb until she was dominated and begging for mercy.

He pictured her on her knees as he stood before her. He would grab that long ebony hair and force her to kiss his manhood, to take it between her hot, moist lips to show complete submission. He would do anything he wanted to her while her mother lay helpless and everyone on the post would look the other way . . . or offer to help him humble her.

The thought of her on her knees naked before him made his groin tighten and he moved restlessly in his chair. “Maybe that is what I will do, Pani Le-shar. But the dirty storeroom is no place for what I have in mind. Can’t you get her the quarters?”

North groaned aloud and rolled his eyes. “Not for anyone else would I do this, Johnny. I’ll get her and her mother into those quarters if I have to list her name as Mrs. O’Brien, here to meet her soldier husband. I just hope we don’t both get in trouble over it.”

“No one cares about an enemy girl,” Johnny said.

“You’re loco to get mixed up with a Cheyenne, Johnny. It’s bound to lead to grief. She might stick a knife in you.” .

“I’ll take that chance.” He would put his knife in her, driving deep and hard, pinning her against a bed while his lips sucked her nipples into hard, pink nubs. He tossed the cigar into the cuspidor, stood up. “One more thing. If her mother dies, the girl is all alone. Each of the white soldiers will try to force himself on her.”

North stood up, nodding. “I’ll speak to General Carr about the quarters, Lord knows what I’ll tell him. The paperwork will delay it ’til morning, but I wouldn’t want to move a sick woman while it snows anyway.”

“And the white soldiers?” Johnny persisted as he got up from the chair, “Otherwise . . .”

“I’ll pass the word around that no man is to touch her until Johnny Ace has had his fill of her and is ready to trade her off.”

As someone must have done to Star Eyes’ mother, Johnny thought with a frown. But that wasn’t his problem. He nodded. “After I’ve enjoyed her a few days, I may not care who has her next . . .” He let his voice trail off. When he thought of another man even putting his hand on her arm, much less lying between her thighs or kissing her breasts, he got an angry, burning feeling deep inside.

“Is that all?”

Abruptly Johnny came out of his thoughts, saluted smartly. “Thank you, Pani Le-shar.”

Frank North leaned against the door post. “Get her out of your system fast. We’ll be going after Ta Ton Ka Haska and his Dog Soldiers again soon, and the quicker I move her out of the quarters, the less explaining I’ll have to do. I’ll get them moved first thing in the morning when the snow stops.”

Johnny nodded, turned to open the door, and walked out into the cold spring night. The snow fell steadily now on the green grass that had just started to come up after the long winter.

He had felt pity for the dying mother, perhaps because he had barely known his own. What difference did it make if Major North thought he was setting the girl up to be used for his lust? But wasn’t that exactly what he was doing and using pity as an excuse? He didn’t know himself.

It occurred to Johnny that she might be just grateful enough to him for making her mother more comfortable that when he told her his body hungered for her, she might let him make love to her without a fight. Maybe she would even respond, make love to him. Johnny had had many women, white and brown, but he had never loved any of them. Of course, he could never love this enemy girl either; he could only slake his lust on her slim body.

He went next to the post doctor and promised to pay for medicine if the man would see about the Indian woman-at least making her rest easy if there was nothing he could do.

There was one more thing that someone would have to take care of in case. . . . With a sigh, Johnny looked around at the lights of the fort reflecting off the swirling snow. Hunching his broad shoulders against the chill, he went off to find the post carpenter. If the mother died, there was no chance of doing a Cheyenne burial on a raised platform with a fine horse killed beneath it to take the dead one on her journey up the Hanging Road to the Sky. No doubt the soldiers would wrap the body in a ragged blanket and scratch out a shallow hole on the edge of the fort graveyard. Even a dog should be buried with more dignity than that.

He found the man and paid him to build a good pine coffin. Lumber was dear on these plains, much too dear to waste on an Indian squaw, the man informed him. Johnny refrained from hitting him in the mouth and demanded he build the coffin if needed.

It was dark now, the wind whipping his buckskin coat as he hunched against the cold and walked across the parade ground. He stopped and looked toward the trading post. Should he go back over? Johnny hesitated and stopped. He didn’t feel like being spat on and screamed at anymore tonight. Besides, the doctor would do whatever he could. Reluctantly Johnny trudged back to his quarters.

He should stop thinking about getting the small beauty into his blankets. After all, she was the enemy and her people had killed his father, leaving him and his brothers orphaned. His brothers now scouted for Custer and Crook.

He stripped down to a scanty breechcloth and went to bed. But he couldn’t sleep. Johnny lay staring at the ceiling, restless and listening to the fire crackle. He worried about Luci and her mother in that storage room. His own mother had died in the cholera outbreak of 1849 that a passing wagon train had brought among the Pawnee. At least in the morning, the pair would be moved to quarters that were clean and warm.

He almost got up in the middle of the night and went over to see about them; then he shook his head and settled back onto his cot. Star Eyes would never believe that he had good intentions. She would think he was coming to force himself on her. But were his intentions all that noble or did he just want to feast his eyes on her again?

Star Eyes. Romantic name for an enemy girl. Nothing could come of this attraction he felt for her unless he raped her and was done with it. But Johnny had never raped a woman, not even an enemy female. He knew some of the others would laugh if they knew he thought it a despicable and shameful thing to do. Still he wanted the blue-eyed one badly enough to be tempted by the idea.

Johnny rolled over on his belly, trying not to think about her. Were her breasts small and delicate with soft pink buds that would harden when he put his mouth on them? With a curse, he felt his manhood harden at the thought and wished he had her beneath him right now.

As he dozed off, he pretended he did have. Her mouth was hot and moist, sucking his tongue deep into her throat. Her slim legs locked around his hips, pulling him deep within her. But best of all, her small arms were around his neck and she whispered over and over, . . . I need you, Johnny, I want you . . . make love to me. . . .

But then the wind picked up and rattled the building as he slept and the wind seemed to cry and wail through his troubled dreams.

Johnny jerked up with a start, listening. As a scout, often sleeping in hostile territory, his life might sometime depend on his ability to hear the slightest sound, come awake in an instant. What was it that had awakened him?

He slipped on his moccasins and crept silently as a lynx to the window, staring out at the night. The light snow still swirled in the darkness and the wind blew. Standing there in nothing but a breechcloth, he shivered in the cold. The faint sound drifted on the wind again. It sounded like a small, hurt animal, or a lost child . . . or a bereaved woman.

Then he saw her collapsed on the parade ground, a small shadow against the snow. With a curse, he swung open the door and raced into the night, heedless of the snowflakes melting on his bare skin.

“Luci! What are you doing out here? What . . . ?” Then he saw the torn clothing, the hair hanging loosely around her small shoulders, the blood smeared on her skin and the torn clothes. For an instant, he thought she had been attacked. But then she raised her eyes to his and he saw the grief, the tears freezing on her cheeks.

“She’s dead! My mother’s dead!” The wind carried away her weeping.

He tried to raise her to her feet but she struggled with him and fell back to writhe in the snow. “She’s dead! Aiyee! She’s dead!” Luci tore at her clothes, then brought out the small knife and began slashing at her arms in the traditional way of expressing grief.

“You’ll freeze to death out here!” He twisted the knife out of her hands and tried to pick her up. Her blood ran hot and red on his bare skin. When he swung her up in his arms through sheer brute strength, she fought him. Her torn dress came open and he felt her bare breasts warm and soft against his chilled skin.

“I don’t care! She’s dead! I don’t care what happens to me!” The girl tried to fight her way out of his grasp, smearing them both with her hot blood. He could feel it sticky on his body, smell the coppery scent of it.

“Dammit it, small one, I care and I’m freezing!” He swung her up in his arms and started walking swiftly toward his quarters, glad only that the wind and the cold had everyone inside and asleep so they couldn’t witness this struggle. The soldier on guard duty must have dozed off at his post.

She fought to get away from him, but he held her easily, cradling her against his bare chest, protecting her shivering body from the wind with his big one.

“Dirty Pawnee!” she cried, struggling. “You’re glad she’s dead, aren’t you? I hate you, you killer of my people! You wolf for the bluecoats!”

He marched doggedly across the parade ground while she fought and scratched and bit him. It seemed a million miles through the snow to his quarters with the struggling girl. Finally he made it and kicked the door closed with his heel before he dumped her unceremoniously on his cot. “I’ll stir up the fire and make you a pot of coffee.”

She looked up at him with wide, frightened eyes, then glanced toward the door.

“Star Eyes, don’t try it,” he said patiently, stooping to stir up the coals of the fireplace and add another pile of buffalo chips. “I can outrun you and I’d only bring you back. I’m sorry about your mother.”

“No, you aren’t!” She raged at him, oblivious to her torn clothes that left her half-naked on his c