cheeks went hot. “Don’t you have something to do? Shouldn’t you go feed the horse or something?”
They both glanced at the horse. He was eating the grass between the trees.
“Well, just go away and leave me alone.”
“You’ve missed a spot,” he said, holding up a strand full of knots and burs.
“How dare you touch me.” She snatched it from him.
“I touched you more last night.” He chuckled. “This was nothing.”
“That’s because you were busy kidnapping me.” She climbed to her feet, moving her skirt out from under her. “You have no right to laugh and act as though nothing is wrong. You’re a kidnapper. I shouldn’t be here right now. I should be in—”
“Denver City. I know.” His eyes narrowed, and he acted as though he just tasted something nasty. “If I hear you say that name again, I’ll gag you.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
He raised his brow. “I would.”
“Why you . . . you—”
“You what?” He lifted a shoulder.
“Savage.”
He frowned.
Good, her words had the effect she wanted. She marched toward the stream.
“We better get going.”
“What? We hardly had time to rest.” Her backside was killing her, and the last thing she wanted was to get back on that horse.
“We’ll stay in the shade of the trees as much as possible. Don’t want your burn to get worse. It means going the long way, so we don’t have much time. But first, get rid of that wire from under your dress.”
“What?”
“You heard me.” He waved a hand. “Do it.”
“Why?” She would be forced to buy a new bustle.
“It’s in the way.” He pointed to some nearby bushes. “Go.”
She stomped over to the bushes, and with trembling hands she wiggled out of her bustle. “Lord, I don’t know what You have in mind,” she mumbled. “But please get me out of this. And soon.” The hem of her skirt fell to the ground and dragged in the dirt. It would be ruined.
When she returned, he’d bound her carpetbag to the horse and mounted. He motioned for her to toss the bustle aside. She hesitated. The red stripes suddenly seemed darker across his cheeks and chin, and when his mouth turned downward, she dropped it at her feet. He could look awfully mean and threatening when he wanted to, especially his eyes behind that black mask of paint.
He swung her up on the horse in front of him, his large hand encasing her own. One would be enough to clamp itself around her neck and strangle her to death. When she came down, she gasped from the pain in her rump.
He took her about the waist and set her on his thigh. It did ease the ache, but she was uncomfortably close to the man.
~*~
Later in the day, when they stopped near a stream, Anna watched White Eagle pull free his bow and arrow. He leaped onto a protruding rock with ease. Without a sound, he armed his bow with a slender arrow and aimed it at the water.
He stood there like a statue, and Anna couldn’t help but admire the beauty of his dark hair as it hung over his broad shoulders. The sunlight cast a blue sheen over the thick strands.
She crossed her arms and waited. Would he succeed in making a catch? His face was serious beneath the bandit-like mask of black paint, and she tried to imagine what he would look like without it. The hard curves and outlines of his exposed jaw were rather attractive. The wind caught the leather dangling in his hair. From his moccasins, to his leggings, to the feathers in his hair, he was like no man she’d ever met.
The arrow flew into the water faster than she could blink, and he jumped in after it. When he pulled it up, a large fish floundered on its end.
She shrugged and turned her back to him. So she was impressed—that didn’t mean she had to show it.
After eating, they were off again. By nightfall she was exhausted but relieved that the sun hadn’t been beating down on her like before. Her head, for once, didn’t ache, and her backside wasn’t nearly as sore.
After making camp for the night, they ate a rabbit White Eagle had shot. She didn’t mind preparing rabbit; she’d done that a number of times for Uncle Horace.
The stars were bright, and a whisper of wind in the pines had a calming effect. The mountain air carried a peacefulness to it she’d never experienced before. In New York City the rumble of carriages over cobblestones and the laughter and talk of people always filled the streets. Here, all was quiet, tranquil, as though she were alone in the world, almost like a dream. But this dream was a nightmare, and she’d never be able to escape with wakefulness.
Soon, supper was over and darkness cloaked the trees. White Eagle added branches to the campfire. He heaped together pine needles and spread buckskin over them next to the fire. He then motioned for her to come.
The firelight danced in his eyes as she walked over to him. Slowly she knelt down on the soft skin, taking in the warmth of the flames.
“Get some rest,” he said, his voice a soft murmur.
Exhausted, she curled up near the warm fire, surprised at the softness of the ground beneath her. She rested her head on her arm, thinking how much more comfortable this bed of pine needles was compared to the thin blanket she’d slept on next to the wagons.
White Eagle stretched out on the buckskin and lay down behind her.
She stiffened, trapped between him and the flames.
“Don’t want you sneaking off again,” he said, causing every nerve to stand on alert.
“And where would I go? I can’t see Denver City anymore.”
Burning pine, mingling with his musk and leather, filled her senses. Conscious of the length of his body so near hers, she stared for a long time into the flickering flames, afraid to move, afraid they might inadvertently touch. But eventually, her eyes grew heavy and the noise of nearby crickets lulled her to sleep.
Sometime in the night, a blood-curdling howl awakened her. She bolted upright.
She was alone.
The howl came again, echoing off the canyon walls, and several more howls joined in. The light hairs on her arms and neck stood on end. The fire had dimmed, and White Eagle was nowhere to be seen.
“Mr. Eagle?” she called, her voice small.
From out of nowhere, branches dropped onto the flames.
“Here,” he said, his voice a welcoming comfort, and for the first time,
