Cheyenne Wife

It took a few seconds before his words sank in.

“Are you saying I don’t have as much sense as a horse?” she demanded. Lily scrambled to her feet. “How dare you! You don’t even know me, nor do you have the slightest idea of what sort of person I am, yet you have the gall to stand there and—”

“We have to go back to the fort,” he said and reached for her arm.

Lily jerked away. “I have no intention of going anywhere with you.”

“It’s a longer walk back than you think. It will be dark soon.”

She squared her shoulders, a strength she hadn’t felt a moment ago suddenly filling her. “I’ll manage, thank you just the same.”

He gestured toward the horizon and the orange glow of the setting sun. “Coyotes prowl at sundown. There’re snakes.”

Lily drew in a great breath. “I’ll go back to the fort when I choose. And I’ll get there on my own.”

“You won’t make it,” North said, anger creeping into his voice. “Most of the men at the fort will end up out here searching for you, risking their own lives.”

And she wasn’t worth it, his look seemed to say.

A sickly feeling wound through Lily’s stomach, shame that this man thought so little of her. Memories of the weeks on the Trail came back to her, the other women caring for their families, tending to them with practiced ease. She’d been unprepared for the journey. She’d known it from the start. She still knew it. But, somehow, seeing that look on North’s face hurt worst of all.

“I don’t need your help,” Lily said, holding up her chin.

A long moment dragged by while North just looked at her. Finally, he simply nodded.

“Fine,” he said, then mounted his horse and headed toward the fort.

Lily gasped and her eyes rounded at the sight of him riding away. He was leaving her? Actually riding away? Abandoning her here so far from the fort, in the middle of nowhere?

“Wait!” She ran after him. “Stop!”

She caught up with him. North rested his hand on the saddle horn and glared down, the brim of his hat shading his eyes.

“You’re—you’re not going to leave me out here, are you?” she exclaimed. She drew herself up, thinking of the nastiest thing she could call him. “You, Mr. Walker, are no gentleman.”

He gave her a long, slow once-over that sent a strange warmth flooding through her. Heat crept up her neck and onto her cheeks, then arrowed downward to the center of her belly. Still, Lily refused to look away.

Finally, North shook his head, almost to himself, and climbed down from the horse.

Relieved, but still clinging to her pride, Lily said, “I decided that it would be prudent to accept your offer and—Oh!”

North grasped her waist and hoisted her upward, plopping her into the saddle. Lily grasped a handful of mane to keep from tumbling backward off the other side, then glared down at him. He glared right back.

An odd warmth leaped from him, covered her, touched her in strange places. She’d assumed he thought her worthless, but the look on his face made her feel as if—

Lily broke eye contact, afraid—but of what she wasn’t sure.

North picked up the reins, then reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out his handkerchief. He held it up to Lily.

Stunned, she looked at it for a moment. The white, pressed linen fabric. His big hard long fingers. She’d complained earlier that she had no handkerchief. He’d remembered.

Without a word, Lily accepted it. North led the horse toward the fort.

In the moonlight the fort looked almost pleasant, Lily thought as she gazed out the window of her room. She rested her arm on the sill, looking up at the stars, searching them for—

What? A glimpse into the future? A window into her own heart?

When they’d drawn close to the fort this evening, Lily had jumped from the horse, marched right past North and entered the fort alone. She’d hurried to her room, not bothering to even thank him.

Not that he deserved to be thanked, after the way he’d insulted her.

Yet it was her pride that hurt more than anything. He thought little of her, and she’d done nothing to prove him wrong.

But what was she to do? She didn’t belong in this place, was totally unprepared for life here in the uncivilized West. Yet, somehow, North’s low opinion of her still hurt.

Sighing into the dark night, Lily decided this was but further proof that she should leave immediately for her aunt’s home in Richmond.

She’d be glad to go. She’d miss nothing about this hard, unforgiving land. The land that had taken her father and the last chance she’d ever have to know what it was like for the two of them to be a family.

North floated through her mind. Tall, wide shoulders. So strong. He’d lifted her into the saddle with no effort. And he was handsome, surprisingly handsome. When Oliver Sykes had stopped by her room to check on her a short while ago, she’d casually—she hoped—asked about North. An English father and a Cheyenne mother, Sykes had said. His mixed heritage had blended to give him a unique handsomeness, to Lily’s mind.

Her stomach warmed at the memory of the two of them beneath the cottonwood tree. He belonged here in this land. He was strong and brave and rugged. Everything this place demanded.

And she wasn’t. A thread of sadness filled Lily’s heart at the thought. Then alarm took its place.

North had seemed decent enough under the cottonwood. But he was, after all, half-Indian. Half-savage. What if his Cheyenne side had presented itself at that particular moment? Would he have ravished her? Scalped her? Left her for dead?

A chill ran up Lily’s spine. She had to leave this place. Tomorrow she’d make the arrangements.

She’d get to her aunt’s home in Virginia—no matter what it took.

Chapter Four

Gray clouds hung over the fort, stretching to the horizon, heavy with the threat of rain. The morning breeze tugged at the loose strands of Lily’s hair as she crossed the plaza.

She stepped inside the trade room, the economic heart of Bent’s Fort, the primary reason for its existence in this vast wilderness. Here, merchandise, goods and services were traded or sold to Indians and trappers, travelers and explorers.

As she hoped, Lily found Hiram Fredericks and Oliver Sykes busy at work among the dry goods, hardware, tools, guns and knives.

The two of them had done so much to help her these past few days, they deserved her thanks and so very much more. That was, however, all that she could offer these two fine gentlemen, in light of her newly discovered financial straits.

“Good morning,” she greeted, and managed a small smile as she cross the room.

Both men looked up from the desk they were huddled around, and smiled in return, looking a little surprised but pleased to see her.

“How’re you doing, Miss St. Claire?” Sykes inquired, giving her an earnest look, setting aside the stack of papers in his hand.

“Well enough,” she said, trying to push her chin up a little and sound brave, “considering the circumstances, of course.”