thousand questions buzzed on her tongue, so many she didn’t know where to start. She was nearly out of breath trying to keep up with the fast-paced sergeant, who looked more unpleasant after their exchange.
“Tell me, please.” She lifted her skirt and hopped over a rivulet of water from a garden’s irrigation. “Does Night Hawk live here in the settlement?”
The sergeant’s mouth narrowed, and he walked even faster.
Marie practically ran to keep up. “Night Hawk was injured. Does he have family to look after him?”
The sergeant scowled at her. The intent was clear to her. He wasn’t going to tell her a thing.
She wasn’t discouraged. Somehow, some way, she’d find the answers to her questions. Meeting Night Hawk today had left her feeling as if she’d been interrupted in the middle of a sonata, the harmony of notes fading in the air, unfinished and without end.
As she hurried past huge log buildings and the smaller log homes of officers, she remembered the low rumble of his voice, like summer thunder, and the protective shelter of his arms.
Maybe—just maybe—she’d see him again.
Chapter Two
What a wondrous night. Marie let the screen door slap shut behind her and padded across the porch. Like enchantment, the night sky glittered with the light of a billion stars. Big, white beautiful twinkles that made the heavens seem close enough to touch.
If only Papa were here to see it with her. He hadn’t come home at all, and she’d eaten supper fixed by an unfriendly housekeeper alone in the echoing dining room.
A series of sweet mellow bongs spilled through the open parlor window. Eleven o’clock. Late for Papa to be out on her first day here.
She fought the harsh sting of disappointment. Her father was a busy man, that was all. She understood that. Surely a crisis had come up and detained him. That’s what it was.
But she didn’t think so. He’d promised he’d greet her at the stage. He’d promised he would have a new horse at the stables for her. Had he broken that vow, too?
There was only one way to find out. She took the steps two at a time and hit the dirt path with both feet, stirring up a cloud of dust.
Overhead a hawk cried, and she tilted her head all the way back to watch it spin across the handle of the Big Dipper. Exhilaration thundered through her.
Was it the same one she’d seen earlier today? Or its mate? The bird glided gracefully on wide wings, wild and free, commanding the night.
This wilderness was truly an amazing place to live. What other wonders would she see? Maybe Night Hawk. The thought came unbidden like a whisper in the wind.
It was easy to recall how he’d looked framed by the mercantile’s doorway. As dark as forest shadows, he was striking with his shoulder-length jet-black hair, bright sparkling eyes and mysterious good looks. Just imagining him made her heart leap. A strange, shivery feeling gathered in her stomach.
Light from the stables tumbled through an open half door onto the path, as if beckoning her closer. At this late hour, no one should be inside the stables. Maybe it was her father, a part of her hoped. Was it possible he hadn’t forgotten about her mare? Eagerly she pushed open the door.
A single flame burned in a lantern hung from one of the overhead rafters to light her way. She took two steps and froze at the sight of a huge dark horse cross-tied in the aisle, half-masked in shadows. His eyes rolled, and he tossed his head sharply. The ropes holding him snapped taut, keeping him trapped.
“Whoa, fella,” a man’s forest-dark voice soothed. It wasn’t her father’s voice. “Easy, now. There is no danger.”
Marie watched in amazement as a shadow rose from the darkness at the horse’s side, taking shape and substance as the light touched him.
Night Hawk.
He didn’t appear to see her lurking in the doorway.
“Easy, boy.” Night Hawk stepped into the light, circling around the nervous animal that watched him defiantly. Almost viciously.
How powerful and wild the gelding looked up close. He stomped one huge front hoof and tossed his enormous head in the air as high as the ropes would allow. His ears flattened against his head. She recognized the horse now. It was the same one that had almost hurt her and little Cassie Ingalls.
“That’s no way to behave, boy.” Night Hawk’s words held no trace of fear.
The warmth in his voice made the sensitive skin at Marie’s nape tingle.
“You can be a gentleman, I know you can.” Night Hawk spoke with the hush of a lullaby and the power of a summer storm.
The horse responded with uneasy trust. She couldn’t believe her eyes. The untamable runaway that had nearly turned killer today stood quietly for Night Hawk.
The big man knelt and ran his hand along the gelding’s front leg, never losing touch with him. Night Hawk’s words became too low to hear, but the gelding’s head drifted down to eat from a small tin bucket on the floor.
The scent of corn and molasses tickled Marie’s nose.
What kind of man was Night Hawk? Saver of women and children and wild-horse tamer. How could he be real? He had to be a dream, a figment of her imagination, the fantasy of a perfect man. Yes, that was it.
Except she was wide-awake and this was no dream. She could smell the straw and horse scent of the stable, see the flicker of light on the man’s hands as he inspected the gelding’s fetlock. And hear the beat of her own heart.
He stood—all flesh-and-blood man—and his gaze pierced the shadows and pinpointed her. His eyes were dark like the night. “Miss Lafayette. What are you doing out of your father’s house?”
How long had he known she was there? “I didn’t make a sound.”
“Your skirts did.” The light flickered over him, worshiping high, sharp cheekbones, a well-proportioned nose and a hard, carved jaw.
Marie felt a lightning bolt strike her, but there was no storm, no thunder. Her feet left the ground, she was sure of it. When she looked down, she saw the straw-strewn earth directly beneath her shoes.
The wind gusted, snapping her skirts. The gelding trumpeted, loud and shrill and sidestepped violently, fighting his restraints.
Night Hawk spoke, gentle soothing sounds of his native tongue while holding tight to the gelding’s halter with one hand. He stroked the horse’s gleaming coat with the other. The animal fought, and the man’s muscles corded beneath the deerskin shirt, holding him steady.
Night Hawk’s touch was magic, and the dangerous horse calmed.
Unbelievable.
“He cannot harm you. I have him cross-tied and hobbled.” Night Hawk caressed one bronzed hand down the gelding’s neck with the ease of a natural-born horseman. “Devil is not used to a woman’s skirts.”
