With the food cooking over the fire, she turned to Blackstar and gave him a good rub-down. Then she threw a blanket over him for the night. She kept her fringed deerskin jacket on for warmth. Summer was over, she realized. She wrapped her only other blanket around her legs and settled down by the fire to eat.
She was only half-finished eating when Blackstar started snorting and stomping his feet, and she knew she was no longer alone. Jessie knew better than to jump up in alarm. That was exactly what Indians would expect of a white, and she might get an arrow in her back for her foolishness. She stayed right where she was.
She waited several moments more before she spoke in a loud, clear voice, her tone friendly: “I can use the company, and I’ve food to share, if you’ll just come by the fire where I can see you.”
No one answered. Should she say it again in the Cheyenne tongue?
She still didn’t move, but she tried Cheyenne. “I am Looks Like Woman, friend of the Cheyenne. I have a fire to share and food, if you will make yourself known to me.”
Still no answer. She moved between fear and relief when ten minutes passed without a sound. Blackstar had quieted down, too. Still, it wasn’t like Blackstar to make a fuss about nothing.
And then suddenly he was there, standing beside her. Jessie’s hand flew to her chest in shock. She hadn’t heard him approach. One second the space was empty, and then those moccasined feet were there, spread apart, inches from her crossed legs.
Her eyes traveled up his long legs in fringed leggings, past the breechcloth that came only to the middle of his thighs, over the wide expanse of chest that was bare and thickly muscled. Scars there attested to his courage and endurance. White Thunder had similar scars, scars from a Sun Dance of several years past.
As her eyes moved upward, she was surprised to see a man not more than twenty-five years old. His face was arresting, with copper skin stretched over high cheekbones, a hawklike nose, and ebony eyes. The eyes revealed nothing. His black hair was long and loose in the back, with two thin braids in the front. In one braid he wore a single blue feather. A bow and arrows were slung over his shoulder. His hands were empty, showing that he did not consider her a threat.
“You’re a handsome one, aren’t you?” Jessie said as she finished looking him over.
The brave’s eyes met hers, and she blushed, realizing what she had said. But his expression didn’t change. Had he understood? She got to her feet slowly, so as not to alarm him. Then she got her first reaction from him, as the blanket fell away and he saw her skintight pants and gun holster.
Before she could think what to do, he reached for her jacket and spread it open. His eyes lingered on the soft mounds that pressed tightly against her shirt front, yet Jessie didn’t dare jerk away.
Finally he released her, and Jessie let out the breath she had been holding. “Well, now that’s settled, perhaps we can communicate. You speak English? No?” She switched to the only Indian tongue she knew. “Cheyenne? Are you Cheyenne?”
He surprised Jessie then by letting off a long stream of words in a deep, resounding voice. Unfortunately, the single word she recognized was a Dakota word.
“You are Sioux,” she concluded, disappointed, because although the Cheyenne and Sioux dialects were similar, they were not the same.
Jessie had never talked with a Sioux warrior, had only seen a few over the years, a few who had visited White Thunder’s camp. This brave was of the tribes still actively hostile to whites, tribes so powerful they had forced the Army to abandon territory. The Sioux and Northern Cheyenne had not been subdued by the whites, unlike nearly all the other Plains Indians. They had demanded the whole Powder River region as their hunting ground—and gotten it, too. And here she was, facing a Sioux warrior, and he had found her in his territory.
The direction her thoughts were taking was alarming, and Jessie put a stop to them right there. She had no reason to fear this brave. Yet. He had condescended to speak to her, which was a good sign.
“I am called Jessica Blair by the whites, and Looks Like Woman by the Cheyenne. I come here often to visit my friend White Thunder and his family, but I am early this year, so I will return in the morning to my home in the south. Do you know White Thunder?”
She helped the lengthy explanation along with what sign language she knew, but he gave no indication that he understood. She fell silent, and he looked away from her toward her horse.
He moved over to examine Blackstar, and she called, “He was given to me by White Thunder.”
The brave said something at last, but she didn’t understand. He reached out and ran a hand over the horse’s flanks, laughing when Blackstar turned his head and tried to bite him.
Jessie lost her patience then and snapped, “Damn it, you can stop looking my horse over right now. You can’t have him!”
The anger in her tone was unmistakable, even if the words were alien. She had managed to get his attention again, and he sauntered over and stood in front of her. This time he was so close she was forced to look up to meet his eyes.
His expression was not so austere now. He spoke again, indicating with signs that he was telling her his name. She tried to decipher his words, and finally grinned as she came up with the English equivalent.
“Little Hawk!” she said proudly, but he shook his head. He had not understood.
Jessie smiled as she indicated again that he was welcome to share her food and fire. This time he acknowledged her offer and sat down by the fire. Jessie returned to her place, wrapping the blanket around her legs again. She had only one plate, and she added more food to it and gave it to him. When all that was left of the food was what had been on the plate when he took it from her, he gave it back. He watched her as she quickly finished eating, and when she was done she got up to clean the utensils and put them away. She could feel his eyes following her every move.
When she came back to the fire, she found him stretched out in the grass, leaning on an elbow, facing her place by the fire.
She might have moved to another spot, but she was too wary to make any changes. She lay down and faced him. Their eyes met, and it seemed they stared at each other forever. His look grew bolder. Hadn’t Blue looked at her that way? It was obvious that Little Hawk desired her, yet she was surprised when he patted the grass beside him, indicating he wanted her to come to him. She shook her head slowly, her eyes never leaving his. Little Hawk shrugged, gave her one long look, then lay down and closed his eyes.
Jessie continued to stare at him, relieved, yet oddly disturbed. What was the matter with her? It was his eyes, she decided at last, the way he had looked at her, making love to her with those dark, compelling eyes.
But as Jessie drifted off to sleep, it was not Little Hawk’s eyes she saw, but other eyes, as dark, the eyes of Chase Summers.
Chapter 5
“YOU should have seen him, Jeb,” Jessie was saying as she unsaddled Blackstar. She had just returned and had been talking nonstop since her arrival, ten minutes before. “He was so proud and arrogant, so utterly Indian, if you know what I mean.”
Jeb crooked a single brow at her. “And you weren’t scared, him bein‘ a Sioux?”
“Well a little, especially when he made it known he... wanted me.”