Cheyenne Song

Book 16: Panorama of the Old West

by Georgina Gentry

Genres: Historical Fiction; Sagas; Historical Romance

Synopsis

"Georgina Gentry brings the West and her characters to life and gives her fans hours of true reading pleasure." — Romantic Times Fort Reno, Indian Territory, 1878. Glory Halstead faced her captor with the same pride and courage that had seen her through hardship and bitter scandal and vowed to be strong. She didn't know what Two Arrows intended to do with her. But she knew her life had changed forever that fateful night she had witnessed three hundred Cheyenne fleeting captivity at Fort Reno. "Ms. Gentry writes tantalizing love scenes by creating an ambience of romance." — Rendezvous Two Arrows wanted vengeance—and he would get it by making another man's woman his own. Yet as captain David Krueger of the U.S. cavalry rode hard and fast with his troops to recapture the woman he loved and the Cheyenne he hated, Glory was losing her heart to a man, a people, and a new life. Now as they made the brutal journey through the harsh, unforgiving wilderness, Glory and Two Arrows would discover passion as primal and unyielding as the land they were destined to tame. . . "Nobody does it like Georgina Gentry!"— Barbra Critiques

Release date: May 16, 2014

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 351

Sample

Two Arrows wanted the woman from the first moment he saw her. Whether it was simply desire as a man wants a woman or revenge because she was Lieutenant Krueger’s lady, he wasn’t sure and didn’t care.

In fact, the Cheyenne brave didn’t care much about anything tonight as he leaned against a tree and watched her riding through the moonlight with the silhouette of the fort in the background. The full moon threw distorted shadows of the horse and rider across the prairie. Two Arrows knew the leaf shadows hid him, so he could watch her as he had done before without anyone knowing. The hated Lieutenant Krueger would not like a drunken Indian watching the beautiful Glory the way Two Arrows watched the dark-haired woman now, desire in his heart and groin.

He grimaced and rubbed his hand across his mouth. He was drunk, he thought, but the white man’s liquor no longer took away the painful memories the way it used to. Now it only made him sad, but he was drunk more often than he was sober these days. When he was sober, he rode as an army scout. It was sometimes hard to remember that once he had been a respected dog soldier of the Cheyenne, bravest of the brave. Now his own people laughed at him, and his family was dead or scattered like the autumn leaves.

He watched the white woman tap her gray mare with her little whip, and the fine thoroughbred broke into a gentle lope across the prairie. If she kept coming, she would be riding beneath the trees, but first she would have to pass the soldier on guard duty.

She had dark eyes and very black hair that had come loose from its ribbon like a wild filly’s mane. Tonight, she wore cream linen—men’s pants—and she rode astride. Lieutenant Krueger would not like that. That thought made Two Arrows smile. He did not like the lieutenant, and he knew the feeling was mutual.

The cheap liquor was pumping through his blood, and Two Arrows felt a stirring in his groin as he watched her canter up to the post guard. She was not beautiful in the way white men judged beauty, and she was no longer a young girl, but there was something about the way she carried her head high and proud that appealed to him. Two Arrows had watched her many nights and thought about her often, since he had no woman of his own. She might soon be marrying the lieutenant; everyone said so, even though the women at the fort gossiped about her past and her scandalous behavior. Two Arrows took another big drink from the bottle and moved farther back into the shadows of the bois d’arc trees.

Glory Halstead rode toward the sentry, who raised his hand. “Halt! Who goes there?”

She reined in and smiled at the red-faced Irishman. “Mercy, Corporal Muldoon, surely you recognize me? Do I look dangerous?” She laughed, and Misty danced under her, eager as she for a swift gallop.

The old soldier looked shamefaced in the moonlight. “Aye, of course, Mrs. Halstead, but it’s regulation, you know; I’m tryin’ to do everything by the book these days.”

Glory nodded. “I understand. I’m sure you’ll get those stripes back.” Everyone on the post knew Muldoon had been broken from sergeant and was trying to regain his stripes. “Well, good night.” She smiled and started to ride past him.

“Beg pardon, ma’am, but does the lieutenant know you ride out alone after dark and in men’s trousers?”

“I’m not a callow girl, Muldoon,” Glory snapped, “and I’m not Mrs. Krueger yet, so I do what I wish.”

“My apologies, ma’am, but your riding alone causes all the old ladies’ tongues to waggle—”

“I’ve survived a divorce, Muldoon, so I’m already a scandalous loose woman as far as the old biddies hereabouts are concerned.”

His beefy face softened. “Aww, don’t you pay them no mind, Missus.”

“I don’t.” But she knew she lied. “Don’t worry about me, Muldoon, I won’t ride far.”

Before the corporal could object again, Glory nudged Misty and cantered toward the ragged grove of trees that grew just outside the fort’s perimeters. Riding alone at night, the wind blowing her hair, was the only pleasure she had at Fort Reno. She had thought when she came here to help her sick father in the post sutler’s store that she might leave the scandal behind her in Virginia; but it had followed her. Now she had met David Krueger, and he hinted that he wanted to marry her, scandalous divorcee or not. She was not an innocent girl anymore. Her practical side told her that at thirty-four, she might not get a better offer.

Glory rode through the shadows of the trees, her mind wrestling with that decision. She would have security with David, if not passionate love, but then, Glory had never believed such love actually existed. Certainly with the lieutenant’s society credentials, it would end the gossip about her scandalous past.

A man stepped out of the shadows, causing her horse to rear. Glory gasped and almost slid off as she reined in. “Mercy! Are you crazy! What do you—?”

He caught Misty’s bridle, and the mare snorted and ceased rearing. Glory clung to the cantle and stared back into the stranger’s handsome dark face. She realized suddenly that he was Indian, one of those encamped near the fort’s perimeters, no doubt. She didn’t like the naked hunger she saw in those burning eyes.

“I watch you all the time,” he said, but he didn’t let go of the bridle.

“You’re drunk.” The hair rose up on the back of her neck. After dealing with a drunken, brutal husband, she was all too aware how unpredictable and dangerous a drunk could be. She must stay calm. “Let go of my horse this instant.”

He swayed a little, looking up at her. “Or you’ll do what?”

She recognized him now with a sense of relief. Big, rugged, wide-shouldered, dressed in buckskins; this wasn’t some stray savage. Two Arrows was one of the Cheyenne scouts who rode for David. “I shall scream loudly, and you’ll be in a lot of trouble.”

He grinned arrogantly, but he didn’t let go of the bridle. “You aren’t the type to scream for help, and anyway, it would only add to the gossip.”

Even the Indians had heard about her. It wasn’t fair; it wasn’t fair she should be branded so. “Let go of my horse, damn you!” She slashed out with her riding crop, catching him across his dark, high-cheekboned face.

He let go of her horse, one hand going to his injured face as the other reached out and caught the riding whip, his powerful hand covering hers as they struggled for it. The fury in his eyes frightened her, but she had too much pride to cry out for help and bring Corporal Muldoon running. For a split second, they fought for the little whip as the delicate mare snorted and danced nervously.

Then the virile brave yanked it from her hand and broke it in half with a sneer. “If you were a man, I would have killed you for that.”

His sultry eyes left no doubt what he would like to do to her; desire mixed with anger in his dark, handsome face. Glory had never sensed such virile, dangerous power in a man before, not from her drunken, brutal husband, certainly not from the gentle, civilized Lieutenant Krueger.

Shaken, Glory did not answer. Instead, she wheeled Misty and galloped back toward the fort, past Corporal Muldoon, who started as if he’d been dozing at his post, and called after her, but Glory didn’t acknowledge him.

Good, at least the big Irishman probably hadn’t seen the encounter to tattle to his commanding officer. Muldoon and David had served together many years, beginning in the Civil War.

No, she shook her head as she rode through the silent post. She didn’t want to be reprimanded by her cautious fiancée. David had enough reason to hate Indians without her adding any fuel to his fire.

She rode back to the stable, put her horse away, went to her small house, and flopped on her bed. Now she’d done it. Had Muldoon seen the confrontation? She considered appealing to the soldier, but she was too proud to do that, just as she had been too proud to stay in an abusive marriage. Though many women endured such silently, she had divorced her husband. Unable to find a job in her shocked small town, she had finally come to live with her father here at the post, hoping for a second chance, but the gossip had followed her. Lieutenant David Krueger needed a second chance, too, and keeping company with a divorced woman certainly wasn’t going to help him get his captain’s rank back. Still, he hinted he would soon ask to marry her, and she ought to accept. Most wives were boycotting her little sutler’s store at Fort Reno, and she was struggling for a living.

Maybe Muldoon hadn’t seen anything. At the moment, she didn’t want to think about Muldoon or solid, dependable David Krueger. Her mind went to the Indian scout, Two Arrows. He must have been very drunk to throw caution to the winds the way he had done and grab her bridle. What would have happened if she hadn’t slashed at him with her little whip?

Glory shivered at the possibilities. Would he have dragged her off her horse if she hadn’t broken free? And if so, then what? Had he watched her before? Yes, now that she thought of it, she remembered seeing him staring at her from a distance. The Indian scout knew her pretty well if he sensed she was too proud to scream for help.

Two Arrows. Glory had seen the emotion in his dark eyes above the whip welt and felt the virile strength of his hand as he tore the riding crop from her fingers and broke it. There was something dangerous and disturbing about him. Raw power, that was it. He could just as easily have pulled her from the dancing mare and broken her in his two strong hands, or carried her deeper into the shadows and ... no, she wouldn’t imagine those possibilities. Yet she had a sudden image of herself lying in the shadows with her pale cream riding coat torn down the front and the savage, muscled Cheyenne lying between her thighs, his brawny body dark against her white skin as his big, hard hands cupped her breasts.

She took a deep breath and put her fingertips over her eyes to block out the thought. The thought of sex revolted her. Howard Halstead had been a drunken brute and she had dreaded it each time he forced her to perform her “wifely duty.”

Maybe that was why she was still not certain about David; she dreaded the marriage act. David was gentle and kind, perhaps he would be patient and not insistent on claiming his rights too soon.

Gradually, Glory drifted off to sleep and had troubled dreams wherein she seemed to feel the Cheyenne brave’s callused hand covering hers again, the smoldering heat of his dark eyes. This was no gentle male, this was a stallion of a man. In her troubled dreams, he pulled her from her horse again and again, carried her into the woods to strip the cream fabric off her and cover her pale body with his dark one, his hot mouth claiming hers, his tongue deep in her mouth and his big, throbbing manhood probing her velvet places, his seed coming warm in her womb as she dug her nails into his hard-muscled back and urged him deeper still.

Glory awakened suddenly and sat up, breathing hard, startled and disturbed. She’d never had dreams like that before; was she losing her mind? Glory got out of bed and went to stare out the window at the warm night. Off in the distance, the Cheyenne tipis were stark against the moonlight, drums throbbing in a rhythm that seemed to call to something very deep and primitive within her. Was Two Arrows sleeping off his drunk somewhere, or was he lying on an Indian girl’s dark breasts, satisfying the hunger Glory had seen in his smoldering eyes? Glory returned to bed, putting her hands over her ears to block out the sound of the distant drums. Sleep was a long time returning.

Glory slept heavily. The light was streaming in her window and onto her face, warm as a man’s fingers trailing across her cheek. Mercy! Where had a thought like that come from? She got up, knowing she must open the store, even though she had fewer customers all the time.

Quickly, she dressed, thought about putting on the black of mourning, decided it was too hypocritical, selected a simple blue calico instead. She put her black hair up in a respectable twist of curls, remembering wistfully the feel of it blowing loose in the wind last night.

After a quick cup of coffee, she walked across the fort’s grounds through the mild September warmth.

The other women seemed not to see her as she hurried through the busy post, but Glory carried her head high and ignored them. She knew when she passed, there would be a buzz of disapproving gossip, but she didn’t care anymore. She and her father had been on the worst of terms, so she hadn’t worn black since the day she buried him, and that had only added to the scandal.

As she expected, business was slow. Glory busied herself with restocking shelves of merchandise. Her stocks were low, but she might not be in business much longer anyhow. She would have to make a decision soon about moving where she wasn’t known and starting fresh or marrying David. The gossip would probably follow her to a new town. People just weren’t willing to give an independent and divorced woman another chance. Perhaps that was why David was hesitating; a captain needed a proper society wife. Marrying Glory would make it even more difficult for Lieutenant Krueger to regain the rank he had lost at Powder River.

Glory looked around at the bolts of cloth and boxes of nails and small tools. A barrel of crackers and another of pickles added their scents to the still, warm air. Her thoughts went to the dark man who had grabbed her horse last night. Next time, she should avoid that shadowy area near the Cheyenne camp.

The bell on the screen jingled, and she looked up as a small Indian girl peeked shyly at her.

“Hello, there.” Glory smiled. “Come on in.”

The child hesitated, then entered, barefoot and ragged. She looked hungry, Glory thought. She ought to run the Cheyenne urchins out when they ventured in to stare at the merchandise, knowing they had no money to buy anything and the ladies of the fort disapproved of them coming into the store, but Glory didn’t have the heart for it. “How are you today?”

The child stared up at her with wide, dark eyes and slowly smiled. “Me Hah’kota, Grasshopper.”

She might not speak English, Glory thought, but the girl caught the friendly tone.

“Well, Grasshopper, good morning.”

The little girl only stared back at her, then moved silent as a shadow to stand before the big glass jars on the counter full of peppermint sticks and horehound drops.

Glory chewed her lip, watching the little girl. Of course the Indians had no money. They didn’t even seem to have enough to eat, much less money for white man’s candy. It was not good business practice, but Glory found herself reaching into the jar of peppermint sticks. Silently, she presented the candy to the little girl. “This is a gift from me to you.”

For a long moment, the child looked from Glory to the candy. Then she took off a small, beaded bracelet she wore and offered it gravely.

“Oh no.” Glory shook her head. “The candy is free; you don’t have to give me anything.”

“Gift in return,” the child said insistently, holding out the delicate bracelet.

There was a matter of pride here, Glory realized, as she recognized a spirit so much like her own. “In that case, my small gift shames me; I must give more.” She took a small sack of flour, a slab of bacon and added them to the candy as she accepted the bracelet. “Your gift is better than mine.”

The child brightened at the sight of the food, grabbed it up as if afraid Glory might change her mind. She turned to scurry out the door and collided with the formidable Mrs. Frost, who was just entering.

The wife of an employee of the Indian agent was certainly well named, Glory thought, but she put on her friendliest smile. “Hello, how may I help you?”

“Humph!” The dumpy lady looked after the running child with blue eyes as cold as her name. “You shouldn’t encourage them. You’ll have a store full of those redskin urchins.”

“The Cheyenne children seem to be so hungry and ragged,” Glory said.

“It’s their own fault if they’re hungry; my dear husband and the agent are doing their best to get the lazy savages to farm. Your sympathy is misplaced.”

She must not offend a customer, Glory reminded herself, noting that Mrs. Frost didn’t appear to be missing any meals. She slipped the bracelet on her wrist.

“Injun junk!” The other sniffed disdainfully.

“Quite the contrary, I think it’s lovely.” Glory was determined to hold her temper. “How may I help you, Mrs. Frost?”

“I’m in the middle of a cake, and I’ve run out of sugar,” the older woman snapped, “otherwise ...”

Otherwise, she would have driven into the settlement instead of shopping here, Glory thought. “How much do you need?”

“One pound, and hurry, please.” The woman’s thin lips were tight with disapproval as she looked over Glory’s dress.

“Of course. Lovely day, isn’t it?” Glory put on her best smile, reached for the metal scoop and a brown paper bag. She scooped sugar from the big barrel, weighed the sack on her scale, and tied it up with a string.

The stout woman took the package, put some coins on the counter, looked Glory up and down again. “Bright calico? With your father less than six months in his grave?”

“How nice of you to notice.” Glory met the other’s gaze with a firm smile. She was not about to apologize or explain to the gossipy old biddy.

“Tsk! Tsk! But then, I suppose we shouldn’t expect any better from a divorced—”

“Good day, Mrs. Frost. Think of those hungry Indian children while you’re enjoying your cake and don’t slam the screen on your way out.”

“Why, I never!” the other huffed in righteous indignation. “No wonder you’re the talk of the post!” Mrs. Frost sailed out of the store like a big ship under full sail, and she did slam the screen.

“Mercy, Glory, now you’ve gone and done it,” she muttered to herself. “Why couldn’t you be humble and bow and scrape a little? Then she might have considered you a poor, unfortunate wretch and urged the other ladies to do a little business with you.”

She would not cower, Glory thought as she glared after the outraged woman. Glory had too much pride, her father had said; she would not lower herself and grovel or beg to save her own life, much less her business.

Glory went to the store window and stared out at the dusty parade grounds. The big regulator clock on the wall ticked loudly as time passed, but no other customers came in. She did have an order to fill for elderly Mrs. Brown, who didn’t seem to care what people thought ... or maybe it was because the old lady was infirm and had trouble shopping at a more distant store. Glory filled her basket with the order, hung the “Be Back Later” sign on the door, locked up, and left. She walked over to the small houses on the edge of the post, delivered her order, visited a moment with the old widow, and started back.

Passing the barracks, she was abruptly aware of the buzz of conversation and the crack of a whip. Curiously, Glory changed her path and went around the buildings. A line of cavalrymen were standing stiffly at attention while a man stood tied with his hands above his head against a stable wall. The man was stripped to the waist and his muscular brown body gleamed in the light as David brought the quirt down again. “I’ll teach you to molest a white woman! How dare you touch Mrs. Halstead!”

Even as she opened her mouth to protest, the riding crop came down across the brown back again, leaving another red welt there. The Indian flinched, but he did not cry out.

“David, no!” She ran forward as the whip came up again.

The officer paused with the whip in the air. “Glory, stay out of this. This scout deserves to be disciplined, you know that.”

“Don’t, David, he’s had enough.”

The stoic Indian never moved or even gave a sign that he had heard her.

David hesitated, his square blond face uncertain. She had placed him in a humiliating situation before his men—she knew that—but that didn’t matter to her at the moment.

“All right,” he snapped curtly to a sergeant, “cut him down. I think he’s learned better than get drunk and lust after a white woman again!”

As Glory held her breath, a sergeant stepped forward and cut the ropes binding the man’s hands. Two Arrows sagged against the barn wall, but he did not fall. He turned his head ever so slightly and looked at her. Glory shivered at the scorn and hatred in the handsome dark face, still marked by the welt she had put across his cheek with her tiny whip. And yet there was still that passion burning deep in those intense eyes—passion so strong, it unnerved her.

Because of her, he’d been whipped like a cur, and yet, the intensity of his gaze told her that even after all that, Two Arrows still desired her. That wasn’t what scared Glory and caused her sharp intake of breath. To her horrified surprise, as she stared into his burning eyes, something primitive deep inside her stirred in response!

Glory held her breath, terrified that David might realize that something electrifying had just passed between her and the scout.

However, David seemed too busy with his duties to notice her response. “Get him out of here!” Lieutenant Krueger ordered, and threw down the whip in a gesture of disgust.

Soldiers stepped forward, tried to get their arms under Two Arrows’s sagging wide shoulders. He shook them off, stepped forward alone, even though he swayed on his feet.

David snapped, “Aren’t you forgetting something? Salute me, Scout.”

Instead, the Cheyenne’s lip curled in disgust and very deliberately, as Glory watched, he strode away.

David turned to the burly sergeant. “Dismiss the squad.”

“Yes, sir.” The man snapped him a salute, gave his orders, turned smartly to join his men, and the soldiers marched away.

Glory gritted her teeth, watching the scout, his brown back stiff with resentment. She waited until the soldiers had marched out of hearing distance. “Oh, David, I wish you hadn’t done that.”

David confronted her, his earnest face red and confused. “I thought you’d be relieved that he’d been punished. Instead of behaving like a proper lady, your interference made me look like a fool.”

“I’m sorry.” She caught his arm. “But David, this isn’t like you. I can’t imagine you flogging a man, especially since it’s against regulations—”

“You think I don’t know that?” He kicked the whip with disgust. “I let my temper get the best of me because of what Muldoon told me—”

“I don’t think I was in any danger, not really.”

“More than you know, Glory.” David put his big, square hand over hers and patted it gently. “I saw the way that savage looked at you just now, like he was willing to risk any punishment to possess you.”

To possess you. In her mind, the strong hand reached up and caught hers as they struggled for her little whip. Shuddering at her own reactions, she took the lieutenant’s arm, and they began to walk. “You’re imagining that, David. You’re letting your own terrible tragedy affect your judgment.”

The lieutenant winced, and she was sorry she had mentioned his wife’s death. “You’re probably right; Two Arrows is a good scout; except when he’s drinking, which is more and more often this past year. You know what drove me to fury?” He paused and looked down at her. “I couldn’t bear the thought that he had put his hands on you. All I could see in my mind was Susan alone and screaming, while a pack of savages—”

“Don’t think about that, dear.” She kept her voice low and soothing, and they began to walk again.

He shook his head. “It’s never far from my mind. The Comanches are allies of the Cheyenne, did you know that?”

She didn’t answer because he seemed to be talking to himself. “The way that savage looked at you just now—”

“I’ll try to be a little more careful so I won’t worry you.” She felt the blood rush to her face, remembering the way the big, virile savage had stared at her. Even with his back cut and bleeding, he was thinking how it would be to take her in his arms. She felt guilty because, just for an instant, she had imagined it, too.

“Glory, you make me crazy sometimes. I pride myself on calm judgment, yet, when Muldoon told me about Two Arrows trying to drag you off that horse—”

“Did your old corporal also tell you I hit the scout across the face with my riding crop?”

David blinked. “No. I wondered where that mark came from. I hear he’s killed men for less. Still, that doesn’t matter; he’s a savage. Two Arrows was once a top dog soldier, bravest of all the warrior clans. Now even his own people resent him for being an army scout.”

“How’d he come by those two bad scars on his chest?” She stopped suddenly, not wanting to admit she’d been staring at the Cheyenne’s muscular brown nakedness, but the lieutenant didn’t seem to notice.

“Sun dance scars. Hard to believe that drunken redskin was once a respected warrior.” David laughed without mirth. “But then, so was I, once.”

“You’ll regain your rank, be a captain again, and then you’ll be promoted to major. Your father will be so pleased.” Glory comforted him, patting his hand absently like a sister would.

He seemed to notice her beaded bracelet for the first time and frowned. “Where’d you get that?”

She smiled and turned it over with the fingers of her other hand. “Isn’t it pretty? One of the children gave it to me.”

“It is difficult to hate the children,” David admitted. “The women and children are always the innocent victims when men fight.”

She didn’t say anything, aware that David was probably still thinking of his own personal tragedy. They paused to watch a troop of cavalry drilling on the parade ground, the September sunlight reflecting off the shiny brass buttons and rifles. A captain sat a bay horse, surveying the marching troops.

“I’ve got to regain my rank,” David muttered, pain in his pale blue eyes as he stared at the other officer’s back. “Glory, you don’t know how important this is, almost as important as you are. When I regain my rank, perhaps we will talk of marriage.”

She paused and, taking both his hands in hers, looked up at him. “Have you even mentioned this to your father?”

He looked shamefaced. “Well, no, I couldn’t seem to put it in a letter, but I’ve got an idea I’d like to talk to you about.”

“Oh, David, you know as well as I do that he will explode. From everything you’ve said about him, your father will be so upset if you marry a divorcée—”

“The colonel! ” he snorted. “He’s let me know all my life how much I’ve disappointed him; what a shame it is that of his three sons, I’m the only one alive. If I could ever catch him in a good mood when I’m home on leave, and tell him about you—”

“Marrying me wouldn’t help your career,” Glory reminded him.

“Perhaps not, but then, I wrecked my own career at the Powder River fight against these same Cheyenne I guard now,” he said ruefully. He squeezed her hand and smiled. “I love you, Glory, you know that; no man could ever love you as much as I do.”

She patted his arm absently. “I know that, David. It’s just that, well, I don’t know if I want to be married again.”

“You wouldn’t regret it.” He kissed her fingertips.

But you might, she thought. Besides, from what she’d seen so far of marriage, she didn’t want any more of it. True love and passion were only for silly storybooks.

The scent of sweating horses and the rhythmic sounds of troops marching drifted on the warm September air.

“This is no time to discuss it, David.” She gave him a warm smile. “I’ve got to get back to the store.”

His earnest face wrinkled into a frown. “I don’t know why you bother to try to keep that store open; you know some of the ladies are trying to run you off this post.”

“Even more reason I should try.” Her head came up proudly.

“You’re too brave for a woman, Glory,” he said softly. “You should have been a man.” He reached in his pocket for his pipe.

“Now you sound like my father,” Glory snapped. “He never let me forget that he would have preferred his only child be a son.”

David paused in filling his pipe. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“I’m sorry”—she raised her chin—“I just don’t have much patience with these spineless lady types.”

He laughed out loud. “What they would say if they heard you talk about them that way!”

“That’s the least of my worries.” Glory shrugged. “I’m not afraid of them and what they think.”

He grinned as he lit the pipe. “May I call on you this evening?”

“I suppose.” Glory tried to sound more enthused than she felt. “I’d planned to go to bed early, didn’t sleep very well last night.”

“Well, no wonder,” David grumbled, puffing and blowing sweet-scented smoke. “I suppose you couldn’t stop thinking about that Indian grabbing you.”

How could he possibly know? She didn’t look at him as he leaned over and planted a prim, dry kiss on her lips. In her mind, she imagined how the Cheyenne scout’s hot mouth would feel against hers.

“Glory, I didn’t mean to embarrass you with my little show of affection,” the officer apol