Native Gold (35 page)

He squeezed a drop of blood onto the milkweed down. Then, popping his thumb in his mouth to stop the bleeding, he carefully placed the trap a few feet away, beside the trickling water.

"Let me see that," she said.

"What?" he mumbled around his thumb.

"Your thumb."

He showed it to her. She sucked her breath between her teeth as blood seeped again from the tiny cut.

"It’s nothing." He shrugged, taking the brand from her.

"It is
not
nothing."

He stuck the thumb back in his mouth.

"Don’t do that! What if there’s infection? What if it—“

"Shh!" he said, jerking his thumb out and pointing toward the spring.

Already a wasp hovered near the trap, its striped hindquarters pulsing. It neared and retreated, neared and retreated. Then it settled slowly down upon the bloody puff, its antennae twitching as it sampled the fare. It apparently decided this was too great a feast to eat all at once, so it collected the feather-light prize and rose into the air.

Sakote exploded from his crouch, yanking Mattie after him.

"Come!" he cried. "We must follow him!"

He must have lost his mind, Mattie thought. Why else would a grown man leap and gallop and dodge and weave across a meadow after an insect? Yet she went mad right alongside him, for she never let go of his hand. Giggles like bubbly champagne spilled out of her as they dashed crazily through the grass after the yellow-jacket, which took a route more circuitous than a courting swain driving his sweetheart home. By the time it arrived at its nest, Mattie had laughed and run so hard she could scarcely breathe.

Sakote’s chest heaved, too, and his eyes shone with a hunter’s triumph as he spotted the papery abode clinging to the underside of a pine limb. He murmured a string of words in his own language. She didn’t need to ask what he said. She’d learned that the Konkows thanked and blessed whatever they took from nature, be it rock or plant or animal.

"Now what?" she asked, laughter still rippling under her breath.

"Now we find a dead pine branch with needles."

Whatever he planned, it certainly seemed an elaborate scheme just for a few yellow-jacket eggs. She wondered what was so special about them anyway.

He found what he was looking for and lit the needles with the brand. Smoke curled off the tips, and Sakote blew on the ends to insure they would continue burning. Then he slowly waved the smoking branch around the wasp nest. Mattie cringed. Surely the smoke aggravated the yellow-jackets with their angry buzzing and their twitching tails.

But to her surprise, they seemed to calm. A few of them dropped off of the nest, and the movements of the rest slowed. Sakote handed her the brand and the smoky branch and used the flat edge of his knife to brush the remaining wasps off the nest. Then he carefully cut the nest from the tree and tucked it into the satchel he wore at his waist.

"What do you do with them?"

"The yellow-jacket eggs?"

She nodded.

"Eat them."

She wrinkled her nose. It sounded like another food to add to her list of Konkow delicacies she’d rather not try.

Still, she had to admire their resourcefulness. Never would she have suspected one could survive like this, living not from a cook’s daily excursions to the local shops, nor even out of the tins a delivery mule could pack to the mining camp, but off of the gifts of the land. It pleased her. And while some of the suppers she’d shared with the tribe qualified for that list—acorn bread was stiff and gritty and slightly bitter, and acorn mush was downright bland—there was nothing quite so tasty as fresh-caught salmon and wild mint tea, roasted hazelnuts and sweet manzanita cider.

"You’ll try them," Sakote told her, his voice half-teasing, half-warning. She supposed he hadn’t gone through all those antics to have her turn up her nose at the fruits of his labor.

"All right, I’ll try them." Then she reconsidered. "You
do
cook them, don’t you?"

"Yes. They’re my friend Noa’s favorite."

She’d heard of Noa before, mostly from Hintsuli, once from Sakote. She knew only that he was from Hawaii, that he had toys, and that he was married to Sakote’s sister.

"He says they taste like your sweetcorn," he said.

He said it just like that, sweetcorn, as if it were one word. She smiled. The way he spoke could be so charming, like the way he said Mah-tee. It wasn’t the Konkow way to use proper names. They referred to each other as brother, mother, friend. But sometimes she ignored Sakote until he was forced to call for her by name, because she liked the way Mah-tee rolled off of his tongue.

"Have you ever tasted corn?" she asked.

He grinned and shook his head, and Mattie suddenly experienced a profound longing for this savage who seemed to be half-boy, half-man. She wanted to introduce him to the pleasures of her world—oyster soup, mince pie, and tinned peaches—as he had shown her his. "You would love corn. It’s warm and sweet."

He smiled again, and Mattie saw the devil enter his eye, the sly twinkle that meant he was up to mischief. "It couldn’t be as warm and sweet as the kiss you make for me."

He stared directly at her as he said it, unashamed, forthright, apparently unaware of the intimacy of his words. Mattie’s cheeks grew hot. In New York, her Aunt Emily would have expected her to put the knave in his place. Men didn’t speak so blatantly about such things.

He was staring at her mouth now, and the smoky charcoal of his eyes made the blood surge in her veins. The corner of his lip curved up, and her own lips parted in response. Then he tipped his head and bent toward her. Goodness, he was making a kiss for her now. She let her eyes flutter closed and waited breathlessly.

The kiss never came.

Sakote leaped back with a loud yelp and a string of Konkow words Mattie couldn’t decipher. He smacked his hand across his naked thigh and began leaping about as if the devil had a hold of his soul.

"Come!" He snatched the now extinguished pine branch from her, casting it to the ground, and relieved her of the brand as well. Then he seized her hand, and they were off and running again. Mattie figured out what all the fuss was about when she glanced behind to see a cloud of angry wasps coming straight for them. While she and Sakote were speculating on that kiss, the effects of the smoke had evidently worn off, and now the yellow-jackets were hot for revenge.

Mattie could barely keep up, and Sakote had to hook an arm around her waist to swing her up over one difficult pile of rocks. They rushed through the cedars and scrub oak at a hectic pace, skipping along a shallow stream, but the wasps swarmed after just as quickly, and Mattie wondered how they’d ever outdistance the vermin.

She was just about ready to surrender. Surely the wasps’ stings couldn’t be as painful as the knife-ache cramping her side from running.

But Sakote yelled, "Jump!"

And before she could even take a breath, they went plunging, hand in hand, over the crest of Sakote’s waterfall and into the deep pool below.

She hit the water with a smack. Her dress whipped instantly over her head as she sank beneath the frigid waves. She scrabbled at her skirts, trying to claw them away from her face, but they clung stubbornly, pulling her down with their weight.

She’d almost run out of breath when a strong arm wrapped around her, tugging her dress from her face and hauling her up to the surface.

She drew in a large gasp of air and shivered, half from the cold, half in fear. Through the soaking strands of her hair, she could see Sakote, his hair gleaming wetly, his teeth shining, his eyes bright with victory.

"Safe," he proclaimed.

Mattie gripped his broad shoulders, too afraid of drowning in her waterlogged garments to let go. He seemed to have no trouble supporting the both of them, even though the bottom of the pool lay far below, and she marveled at the strength in his body. She supposed it was from swimming so much. The muscles of his shoulders bunched as he made wide ripples through the water with his arms.

Safe, he’d said, and yet she didn’t feel safe at all, not with the way his eyes glistened and his arms flexed and his sumptuous mouth hovered only inches away. He was so near she could count the drops of water rolling down his chiseled cheek and whiff the faint scent of mint tea on his breath. Safe? On the contrary, she felt completely vulnerable.

"You weren’t stung?" His ebony brows curved upward in the most endearing way when he asked her a question. She wanted to reach up and touch one of them.

She shook her head. Then her eyes settled on his mouth again—his wide, wet, sensual mouth that slowly, languorously curved up into a delicious smile.

"You still want me to make the kiss with you," he accused.

She blinked, startled. Were her thoughts painted on her forehead? Sakote certainly didn’t waste his breath on coy flattery. No one would ever accuse him of mincing words. But somehow his manner was oddly refreshing, and she saw by his easy grin, there was no need for her to reply.

The world slowed as he inclined his head toward her. The water lapped gently at her skin, and the damselflies made lazy circles through the air. His breath felt warm upon her mouth, but as he pressed his lips to hers, she could taste the chill creek upon him. Their kiss was sweet, tender, innocent, and Mattie got the fleeting notion that perhaps Sakote had never kissed anyone before her.

That impression didn’t last long, or else he learned quickly. He captured her head in one hand, holding her still to slant his mouth across hers, deepening the kiss. Her lips softened beneath his, opening for him, and the shock of his warm tongue upon her cool flesh made her gasp with pleasure. His breath quickened upon her cheek as he feasted hungrily upon her.

A moan rasped across her throat, and he gentled his touch, nipping at his leisure, savoring each joining of their lips. Every fiber of her being centered on the fire they made with their mouths, and it wasn’t until icy water gurgled into her nose that she realized they were sinking.

He jerked, too, apparently as startled as she. Then he laughed lightly. It was a seductive sound, intimate, and it flowed over her like warm honey.

"We should climb out. I’d be happy to drown here in your arms," he murmured, "but my mother would mourn the loss of her favorite white woman."

Mattie swallowed hard. She didn’t know what to say. She knew she must be troublesome to Sakote’s people, and yet, with a few words, Sakote made her feel so treasured.

He half-turned in the water, giving her his back, and looped her arms around his neck.

"Hold on."

Then he swam for shore, his muscular back twisting beneath her with powerful strokes, his legs kicking up a froth behind them.

Her garments as heavy as a wet carpet, Mattie attempted to climb from the pool. Sakote gave her his arm, but his drenched moccasins afforded little purchase on the slippery stone.

"This dress, it’s dangerous," he told her when he finally managed to pluck her from the water.

Mattie had to laugh at that. Dresses with plunging necklines and bare shoulders were dangerous. Her high-buttoned, prim, proper, practical frock was nothing but, well, frumpy. And at this moment, it was a bother. It would take hours to dry, but, thanks to Doc Jim’s brother, she owned no other garment.

Without a word, Sakote began unfastening the buttons at the back of her bodice, which were even more challenging when they were wet. She felt she should stop him, but there really was no other way. She certainly couldn’t manage them herself. And she had to get out of the dress to dry it.

After several long, silent minutes with little progress, Sakote finally spit out a phrase that sent Mattie into gales of laughter.

It wasn’t that she hadn’t heard and said "damn it" of late herself. It just sounded so comical coming from this noble savage. But before her laughter could die, she heard a rip, and the back of her dress fell forward in a spontaneous curtsey, revealing her chemise.

"What did you..?" she demanded.

He showed her his knife. "Later I’ll make laces for the dress," he explained. “Laces are better."

"Laces are not better," she argued. Although they might be more convenient, buttons were the hallmark of a civilized society. She certainly couldn’t walk around with rawhide laces running through her gown.

He didn’t bother to counter her. He knew he was right, and she’d learned he had the patience to wait days if necessary for her to admit the truth. With an exasperated sigh, she wiggled the dress down over her chemise and stepped from the pile of drenched fabric. Her irritation didn’t last long, especially when he beguiled her by sweeping the dress up and flinging it over a sunlit bush like some cavalier gentleman of old.

"Climb onto the rock, and I’ll take off your shoes."

His gaze skimmed her body as he spoke, and she suddenly felt naked despite her chemise. Still, she resisted the strong urge to cross her arms over her breasts. She knew her dip in the pool had reduced the linen to little more than a diaphanous mist covering her body. But she supposed Sakote was accustomed to seeing women’s breasts. Even his mother, with her sagging and wrinkled bosom, seemed to think nothing of roaming the camp without her deerskin cloak. And Mattie had to admit, it gave her a giddy, sensual freedom to flaunt society’s morals, feeling the warm breeze shiver across the cool, clinging fabric.