Wild Innocence (6 page)

“Of course she hasn't, Daniel,” Amelia said sharply. “Why would you ask such a thing?”

Ignoring her brother-in-law's taunt, Rachel approached Black Hawk and extended her hand. “Hello. Are you Black-Hawk-Who-Hunts-at-Dawn?”

The warrior looked surprised but pleased as he glanced briefly toward Rachel's sister. “You have told her about me,” he said accusingly.

Amelia smiled. “Only that you are our good friend.”

Black Hawk's dark eyes gleamed as he regarded Rachel. “Shall I be an equally good friend to sister of Tree-That-Will-Not-Bend?”

She didn't answer. She was too stunned.
Dear God,
she thought. She
had
talked with him last night!

She caught Amelia's puzzled expression. “Rachel? How did you know his full Ojibwa name?”

Rachel shrugged nonchalantly, but inside she felt shaken. “You told me,” she lied. “How else would I know?” She managed a smile for everyone in the room. “Tree-That-Will-Not-Bend?” she asked.

“My Indian name,” Amelia murmured. “I'll explain later.”

Daniel chuckled. His wife grinned.

Black Hawk's gaze held Rachel captive. “Will you tell her about Man-with-Big-Head?” he asked Amelia.

Daniel made a choking sound, and Rachel looked at him. Her brother-in-law was glaring at his “good” friend.

“Yes, I believe I will tell her about him,” Amelia said with a soft laugh.

Daniel's gaze promised retribution. “Love, have you cooked our meal yet?”

To Rachel's great pleasure, Amelia scowled at him. “No, my dearest, I haven't.” She smiled mischievously. “Have you?”

It was hard not to stare at the Indian sitting across from her. To dream of a savage was one thing, Rachel mused. To be this close to him in reality was entirely something else. He might have looked quite civilized this evening to the others in the room. But his white linen shirt, buckskin leggings, and moccasins gave him the aura of a savage. He wore a necklace of copper beads about his neck. His jet-black hair hung past his shoulders, except for two tiny braids near his face, which he'd fastened at the back of his head.

Rings made of copper hung from his ears. She wondered if the man had tattoos. Black Hawk looked up and stared. She blushed and looked away when she realized that he'd caught her interest.

There were six people at the table. Rachel studied the other diners: her sister, Daniel, Daniel's sister Jane, Jane's daughter Susie ... and Black Hawk. It was the first time that Rachel had met Jane's little girl. Young Susie, she guessed, was about eight or nine years old.

Supper was delicious and consisted of venison stew, freshly baked bread, and for dessert, a berry pie that Jane had made fresh that morning.

Everything tasted wonderful. Rachel hadn't realized how hungry she was until she'd tasted her first mouthful and sighed with pleasure. She complimented the cooks for their contributions. Amelia looked pleased by her sister's praise. Jane smiled softly, her blue eyes warming as she met Rachel's gaze.

Daniel continued to regard his sister-in-law with veiled displeasure. Rachel didn't know what it was about her that aggravated her brother-in-law, but she was determined to ignore him. She wouldn't allow him to ruin her family reunion. She was satisfied with the knowledge that her sister, at least, was happy to see her.

When she first arrived, Susie, Jane's daughter and Daniel's niece, had eyed Rachel with curiosity from a distance. But it wasn't long before she, too, warmed to her aunt's sister, which pleased Rachel tremendously. She was grateful for the child's cheerful, friendly chatter.

Black Hawk, for the most part, remained quiet during the meal. Rachel tried to avoid looking at him. Every so often, their gazes caught and held, and she felt flustered. He spent much of the supper hour watching little Susie's antics and listening to her with a smile. There was a quiet affection between the Indian and the child. The relationship surprised Rachel and made her slightly less wary of Black Hawk.

“You seem tired, Amelia,” Jane commented softly as she cut another slice of pie for her brother.

“Yes, love,” Daniel said to his wife. “Why don't you go lie down? I'm sure Rachel won't mind cleaning up the supper dishes.” He challenged her with a look.

“Of course not,” Rachel said without hesitation. She was annoyed at her brother-in-law, but she honestly didn't mind cleaning up, as she wanted to help her sister. “You've got to think of the little one.”

She caught Daniel's look of surprise at her answer, before her gaze settled briefly on Black Hawk. The brave's expression was unreadable, but she thought that maybe there was a glint of amusement in his dark eyes.

“Little one?” Jane said. “Amelia, are you ... ?”

Amelia grinned as she nodded.

With an exclamation of joy, Jane put down the knife and rushed around the table to hug her sister-in-law. “Oh, Amelia—Daniel, I'm so happy for you.”

“Momma?” Susie asked. “Why is everyone so happy?” She wore a puzzled look as she glanced from her mother to the other adults.

Jane released Amelia and held out her arm for her daughter. Susie rushed in gratefully for a hug. “Aunt Amelia is going to have a baby, Suze,” her mother said as she released her.

The child studied Amelia with wide eyes. “You are?”

Amelia nodded. “I hope you'll help me take care of him.”

Susie frowned. “You're having a boy?”

Her uncle chuckled. “We don't know that, Susie,” Daniel said. “We won't know until the baby is born whether it's a girl or a boy.”

“But you want a boy?”

“No,” Amelia said. “I'd love a little girl like you, but I'd love a little boy as well. Either way I'll—Daniel and I will be happy.”

Susie didn't look too pleased. “I can still come over to visit whenever I want?”

Amelia saw her husband's expression, and quickly put her hand on his arm to keep him quiet. “Yes,” she said, “you can still come over to visit anytime you want.” She ruffled the child's hair. “What would we do around here without you? You know we love you very much.”

Rachel watched the child's radiant smile return, and she thought what a complex but loving family her sister had with Daniel's family ... and now there would be a new baby to warm their hearts further. Would she—I Rachel—one day feel an accepted, loving member of this family?

She looked away from the group with the sting of tears in her eyes. She rose and quickly began to clear up the supper dishes, wanting only to escape for a few minutes in order to regain her composure. Her sister had everything that she'd always wanted. She wasn't jealous of Amelia. Well, maybe a tiny bit. Mostly, she fought to banish the pain left in the wake of Jordan's betrayal.

For so long, she had imagined herself as Jordan's wife, bearing his children. It was hard still, at times, to accept the fact that she would never have him ... that Jordan had chosen the widow, a woman several years his senior, over Rachel, a woman a few years younger than he was.

She stacked up the dinner bowls and placed the eating utensils they'd used on top of the pile. With her arms loaded with dishes, Rachel left the great room for the kitchen workroom. She had to blink against wetness as she hunkered down to carefully set the stack on the worktable near the wash basin.

I'm happy for Amelia. I really am. But I'm miserable for myself. I won't ever love again. I won't give away my heart only to have it broken again.
And her heart was a long way from being healed.

Rachel heard someone come in behind her. She didn't turn; she didn't want anyone to see her misery. The person, whoever it was, set a small stack of pie plates on the table directly to Rachel's right.

She knew she should acknowledge the presence, but she didn't want anyone here. She wanted to be alone.

The person didn't leave. She could sense that he or she remained. Rachel figured it was Jane, who would be concerned by Rachel's silence but wouldn't push for conversation. She kept quiet, hoping that Jane would take the hint and go.

“Thank you,” Rachel managed to choke out after several long seconds.

“You are sad?”

The deep male voice surprised her, and she spun toward the sound. There, just inside the kitchen doorway, stood the Indian.

Rachel blinked and shook her head. “I'm fine.” She forced a smile before she turned back to the dish basin. She had helped Amelia put a pot of water to warm on the stove in the great room earlier. She reached for a mitt, then extended her hand toward the kettle where it now sat on the worktable. She closed her eyes and prayed the Ojibwa brave would go away before she made a complete fool of herself.

She wrapped the heavy quilted cloth around the iron pot handle and started to lift it. The pot was heavy, but Rachel refused to ask for help. She had failed in her relationship with Jordan; she refused to fail in this simple chore.

As she struggled to lift the pot, Rachel no longer thought of the Indian, except to assume that he had left, having grown tired of her lack of conversation.

She managed to raise the pot a few inches in the air, before her strength gave way and the pot started to slip from her grasp. She shrieked as it started to fall and she fought to recover it. In a quick mental flash of foresight, she saw the pot hit the table edge, spill, and hot water scald her hands and her body. She cried out. Suddenly someone was there to help her, a cloth wrapped around his hand to protect it.

Black-Hawk-Who-Hunts-at-Dawn saved the pot from falling and Rachel from being burned. Unfortunately, he couldn't save Rachel the humiliation of feeling like a failure again. Rachel fought an onslaught of silent tears.

He set the pot back onto the table. Then, without a word, he set down the cloth he'd used to shield himself from the heat. He took Rachel's mitt from her shaking hands, placed it on the table next to pile of dirty dishes, and pulled softly sobbing Rachel into his strong arms.

She didn't protest. She was aware of little but her own misery. The fact of her self-pity bothered her, and it made her cry even harder.

She wasn't conscious that an Indian held her. She was aware only of the comfort of a pair of masculine muscular arms. It didn't matter whose arms they were. Just as it didn't matter whose warm, male chest supported her cheek and allowed her tears to fall and dampen sleek, smooth skin.

The strength, the power of the one who held her eased her pain, made her think of Jordan, and for a moment, it was another time when things had been better ... when she'd looked with happiness toward the future as Jordan's bride.

Her sobs quieted. She rested peacefully, silently, within the arms. As her misery eased, her awareness of her surroundings and the man who held her increased. She grew attuned to the pleasant scent that filled her nostrils, the scent of the outdoors, of the forest ... of fresh leaves and damp earth ... of clear spring water, and the richness of clean, summer air intermingled with the smell of washed and freshly aired linen. She became totally aware of the texture and tautness of the muscled chest beneath her cheek. She moved her head and stiffened when she realized that she felt a male nipple pebbled against fabric, then the bare skin that was exposed by an unbuttoned linen shirt.

As her brain began to function clearly again and her senses came alive, she stood for a moment without moving ... even as she realized who held her. She should have pulled away immediately. She moved back, but slowly and easily, not swiftly like a frightened deer.

Her heart hammered in her chest. Her pulse raced.

She eased back, waiting a heartbeat before lifting her eyes to meet his gaze. He watched her without speaking, his face unreadable. Rachel felt her heart begin to pound as she studied him. His eyes glistened under the oil lamp in the kitchen. His features appeared darker, yet softer in the golden light.

Her gaze fell on his mouth, and she wondered with strange fascination what it would be like to kiss him ... if he'd kiss like in her dream ... if he'd kiss as well as Jordan ... or better.

As she shifted her attention back toward his gaze, Rachel felt warmth pool in her stomach. Then a sudden ice fill her veins as his expression changed, grew darker, harder, more frightening ... less like a man she might want to kiss ... more like the savage that he was.

“I—I'm sorry,” she said, turning away abruptly, back to the worktable and the dishes that needed to be washed.

She gasped when he grabbed her arm and turned her to face him. His grip wasn't rough, but his expression was savage. “Why are you sorry, white woman?” He said white woman as if he wanted to remind her of their differences.

She trembled as she looked up at him. “You nearly got burned, because of me—”

He released her, took a step back. “What does it matter if a savage gets touched by fire?” he asked cruelly.

She gaped at him in shock. “Is that what you think of me?”

His smile was grim. “Perhaps you are afraid of my knife.” His hand moved like lightning and there, gleaming in the lamplight, was a blade of steel.

She gasped and moved away. “It did happen! You were out there last night,” she said, pointing to a window. “You grabbed me.”

He slipped the knife back into his legging strap. He grinned, a flash of light in the darkness that was not sinister, but a genuine article of amusement. “It is true that you are sister to Tree-That-Will-Not-Bend. It is good to know that you did not lie to me.”

Rachel relaxed as she saw his good humor. “Is that really her Indian name?”

He nodded, and the movement called attention to the play of light on his midnight dark hair. “As Little Flower is the daughter of Jane.”

“And Jane? Does she have an Indian name, too?” she asked innocently.

Black Hawk's face became shuttered. “It is not one that she likes to hear.”

“You won't tell me?”

He shook his head. “If Dan-yel's sister wants you to know it, she will tell you what she was called.”

Annoyed by his reticence, Rachel turned away. “Thank you for your help,” she said haughtily. “I had best wash these dishes.”

He didn't answer her, but he didn't leave either. Rachel tried to ignore him as she looked for a bucket to fetch cold water for the washbasin. She would ladle out some of the hot water and mix it with the cold, she decided. Then, she wouldn't have to pick up the pot again, and she wouldn't have to ask for any help to move it.

From the corner of her eyes, she tried to see if Black Hawk was still there.

It was too silent in the room. She hadn't heard him leave. He must have left, she thought. But then a slight shift in the shadows against the far wall told her that he had remained.

In the corner of the room, she found a wooden bucket. She searched for an exit, realized that she'd have to go through the great room and out the front door to get water, and set the bucket down with a sigh.

As she gave the hot kettle a second study, she saw a figure bend and pick up the bucket. Then, she turned to see Black Hawk with bucket in hand disappear into the next room.

The man is an enigma,
she thought. One minute the quiet comforter, the next the savage with danger in his eyes ... and now the silent helper. Which one of these men was the real Black Hawk?