Savage Arrow (13 page)

He also had the feelings of a man for beautiful, sweet Lee-Lee!

Crying and shivering from the shock of what she had just gone through, and feeling so alone in the world now, Jessie wasn’t sure what to do, or where to go.

And her fingers! They were hurting so much! She could hardly bear to hold the horse’s reins, but she had no other choice.

She had been ordered from the Sioux village by a man she had thought could never be cruel. But he had been, and to her!

He seemed a different man today, someone far removed from the man who had saved her from the runaway stagecoach.

She had no idea where to go but back to the abandoned shack. Perhaps she could make a home out of it. She could clean it up. She could gather dry wood for the stove.

But even if she did make the place livable, where would she get food? She had no weapon to kill anything.

And she had no money, even if she was brave
enough to ride into town, where almost everyone knew her now as Reginald’s cousin. The scalawag had probably already sent word to everyone in Tombstone to keep an eye out for her. No doubt anyone who saw her would promptly return her to his home.

She wiped the tears from her eyes with her glove, then made her way toward the shack. But when she saw the shine of a stream up ahead, she impetuously went in that direction instead. She needed to soak her hands in the cool water again. That seemed to be the only thing that gave her some respite from the pain, if only for a moment or two.

She would soak her hands, and then go on to the shack and start cleaning away the cobwebs. She dreaded the thought of removing the dead rat. By nightfall she might at least have the cobwebs and dirt removed and a fire going in the stove.

She could only hope and pray that Reginald would not happen along and find her. Even if he did, though, she wouldn’t return with him, and she doubted that he would force her at gunpoint. He surely would not go that far.

When she reached the stream, she dismounted and sank down to her knees beside the water. She slowly removed the gloves and cringed when she saw how red and swollen her fingers were. She shuddered at the thought that her hands might have actually been broken by what Reginald had done.

She sank her hands into the water, sighing at the relief she felt.

But she couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. Her body shook as she sobbed.

She closed her eyes and sat there crying as she slowly swished her hands back and forth in the cool stream.

Thunder Horse had searched until he saw Jessie in the distance. As he approached, he was able to make out that she was kneeling beside a stream, her hands held in the water.

He realized that she had not gone toward Reginald’s ranch, but in the opposite direction. That could prove that Lone Wing was right.

His jaw tight, he dismounted and tethered his horse to a tree. He continued on foot, his footsteps so quiet she didn’t hear him.

When he had almost reached her, he stood a few feet away and watched as she drew her hands from the water. He was stunned to see how red and swollen they were. Carefully she slid them back into her gloves, and he realized that was why he hadn’t noticed their condition earlier.

Jessie rose and turned, gasping with surprise when she found Thunder Horse standing only a few feet away from her.

“I was wrong to send you away,” he said thickly. “Your hands. How were they injured?”

She hesitated, then told him about how Reginald had forbidden her to play the piano, how she had done it anyway, then how he had injured her hands in his fury.

Touched by her story, and now certain that she was
in need of his help, he stepped closer and gazed apologetically into her eyes.

“Come home with me,” he said huskily. “I have a shaman who knows all the skills of healing. And . . . Jessie . . . you can stay with my people as long as you need . . . to feel safe.”

Overjoyed by his change of heart, and his gentleness, Jessie could not help herself. She ran to him and flung herself into his strong arms.

“Thank you, thank you,” she sobbed. “Oh, Thunder Horse, thank you so much.”

He felt the sweetness of her embrace and smelled the wildflower freshness of her hair as his nose was pressed into it. He was stunned to find her in his arms.

Realizing the boldness of what she had done, Jessie stepped away from him.

Their eyes met and held.

“Reginald is my cousin,” she blurted out, then told Thunder Horse how she had come to live with him, but left out several of the reasons why.

She didn’t tell him about her husband’s death, nor her parents’, which had left her alone in the world except for Reginald. And also she did not reveal that she was with child. She thought it would be better to explain those matters later.

She felt something beautiful flower in her heart as she looked again into Thunder Horse’s eyes. It was something she had never felt before.

Her husband had been more friend than lover. Their relationship had never been passionate.

For the first time in her life, she felt sexual attraction for a man. But she knew that she must fight these feelings.

He was an Indian. He was a powerful chief with much more on his mind than the welfare of a mere woman.

Thunder Horse was vastly relieved to know that Jessie didn’t belong in any way to Reginald Vineyard, that she wasn’t his wife, but a cousin.

He knew now that she was free to be loved, yet he reminded himself again that his first duty was to his people, especially his ailing father.

It was wrong to become romantically involved with any woman at this time, especially one with white skin.

But he did feel many things for Jessie; feelings he found hard to fight.

For now, the first thing he must do was to get her to safety at his village. All else would come later.

Strange how knowing that she wasn’t married made him feel giddy—a new feeling for him!

He walked her to her horse and helped her into the saddle, then went to his sorrel and swung himself onto its back. They rode off together toward his village.

Jessie prayed to herself that Reginald would never find her, or it could bring trouble not only to herself, but also to Thunder Horse and his people. She knew the history of the Indians in this area, and realized that none of them needed any more trouble from whites. Whites had already taken almost everything from them, including their freedom.

But what did remain was pride.

She saw it in Thunder Horse’s every movement, and heard it in everything he said.

He was more of a man than most white men ever could be!

Lone Wing stood just outside Thunder Horse’s tepee as his chieftain uncle rode toward it, the flame-haired woman called Jessie riding beside him on a magnificent white steed.

Lone Wing smiled proudly at Thunder Horse as their eyes met. He was so proud that his uncle had done as he’d asked.

The woman, ah, she was so beautiful, and so vulnerable, but now no longer alone.

He looked around, noticing how all activity in the village had stopped as everyone watched the arrival of their chief with a white woman. Lone Wing saw a mixture of emotions in the people’s eyes.

Some showed contempt for the woman because she was white. Some showed wonder that their chief had gone to get a woman they had all heard him order away only a short while before.

Lone Wing smiled at that, certain they would all know in time why their chief had changed his mind.

“Lone Wing, go for Hawk Dreamer,” Thunder Horse said as he drew rein before his lodge. He nodded at a young brave who stood nearby. “Little Wolf, come and take my horse and the woman’s. See that they are put safely in my corral.”

Thunder Horse dismounted and handed both reins to the brave, then went and helped Jessie from her steed and motioned toward his entrance flap with the wave of a hand.

“Come with me,” he said. “My nephew has gone for our village shaman. He will look at your hands and place medicine on them that should make them feel better soon.”

Touched deeply by Thunder Horse’s change of heart, Jessie could not say thank you enough times to prove her gratitude, but she said it again anyway.

“You are so kind,” she murmured. “Thank you so much, Chief Thunder Horse.”

When he took one of her hands, Jessie felt her knees grow suddenly weak from the passion his touch invoked within her, for he was not only holding her hand, but also gazing into her eyes with a look that melted her heart.

“You do not need to address me as chief ever again,” Thunder Horse said, searching her eyes with his. “I am Thunder Horse to you and my closest friends.”

“Thank you, Thun—” she began, but was interrupted by him.

“And you need not thank me for every kindness I give you,” he said, his eyes dancing with quiet amusement. He nodded toward the entrance flap. “Let us go inside and make ourselves comfortable beside the fire.
My shaman should be on his way here. He always comes quickly when I summon him.”

Feeling as though she were in a dream, afraid that she might wake up at any moment and find herself back at that shack, or worse yet, in her bedroom at her cousin’s house, with Reginald only a few footsteps away in the corridor, Jessie entered the lodge with Thunder Horse. She caught her breath at what she saw inside.

It was obviously a chief’s lodge, for everything she saw was of exceptionally fine workmanship. She gazed at a long, eagle-feathered staff, as well as a lance that was also adorned with eagle feathers. She saw magnificent bows and a quiver of arrows hanging from one of the support poles of the lodge. And there was a buffalo-hide shield with colorful drawings on it, which she thought were surely the symbols of a great warrior’s life.

But her eyes were taken from all this when Thunder Horse led her to a soft pallet of blankets beside a warm fire that was built into the ground and encircled by large stones.

One thing was certain: This was the lodge of a man. No woman’s belongings were anywhere to be seen. Surely Thunder Horse had no wife!

That thought caused a tingling in Jessie’s belly that was new to her. How deliciously sweet it was!

“Here is a blanket to warm you, too,” Thunder Horse said as she sat down. He placed a lovely blanket of fine blue wool, heavily and tastefully adorned with silk ribbons of various colors, around her shoulders.

She gazed up at him and almost said thank you again, but instead smiled when she saw him smiling at her as if he knew what she was about to do.

He knew how grateful she was for his change of heart.

Yet how could she ever really convey her gratitude? If he had not come for her, her entire future would be in doubt, as well as that of her unborn child.

Now perhaps she had a chance. If Thunder Horse allowed her to stay until she had her future mapped out for herself, she might be able to figure out a way to make a living for her and her child without having to return to Kansas.

Deep inside her heart she wished to stay with Thunder Horse, forever and ever. She had feelings for him that she had never felt before for any man, but she doubted he would allow it. His kindness would go only so far. She was white. She had seen a look of contempt in some of his people’s eyes and knew that to them she was one of the enemy, no different from the whites who had taken so much from them.

She would take this one day at a time and just be thankful she was no longer alone, frightened, and helpless. She would enjoy being with him for as long as she could remain.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Lone Wing entered the tepee, followed by a tall, gangly, elderly man wearing a robe of what she thought might be bear’s fur. His copper face was framed by long gray hair.

Jessie was relieved when she looked into his eyes and saw no contempt, but instead the same kindness that she found in Thunder Horse’s gaze.

She looked at the huge buckskin bag he set down beside himself as he knelt before her. “I am Hawk Dreamer,” he said in a deep voice, smiling. “I am the Fox band’s shaman. Lone Wing tells me that your hands need medicine. Let me see them. I will choose which medicine is best.”

Jessie removed her gloves, laid them across her lap, then held her hands out for Hawk Dreamer.

When he touched her during his examination, his hands were gentle. She smiled at Thunder Horse, who had sat down beside her, with Lone Wing on his right side, his eyes wide and anxious as he looked past his uncle at her.

At first, when she heard that a shaman would be doctoring her hands, she had been apprehensive, for she had heard about Indian medicine men. She had been told that many worked with black magic.

But thus far, the shaman had done nothing that seemed wrong. He was just a kind and gentle man who was trying to help her.

He let go of her hands and reached inside his bag. He took out two vials and set them on the floor beside her.

He gave Jessie a reassuring smile, then scooped out a white, creamy substance, which he gently rubbed into her fingers. Surprisingly, the pain faded more with each gentle rub.

When Hawk Dreamer drew his hands away from Jessie’s and returned the vials to the bag, she gazed in wonder at Thunder Horse.

He smiled and nodded at her, then looked at Hawk Dreamer, who had stood and was already walking toward
the entrance flap. No words were exchanged between the chief and the shaman, for it was obvious to Jessie that words were not needed between these two. There seemed a connection between them that spoke of friendship, trust, and love.

Lone Wing came and knelt down beside Jessie as she gazed in wonder at her fingers and hands, which were still shiny from the cream.

“Do they feel better?” Lone Wing asked, his eyes wide as he looked into Jessie’s.

“Much,” Jessie said, smiling at Lone Wing. “But I think I should still wear the gloves, don’t you?”

She purposely brought him into the decision, for he seemed genuinely interested in her welfare.

“Do they make your hands feel better?” Lone Wing asked, his eyes studying the gloves as she slid them onto her hands.

“Usually,” she murmured.