Chapter 19 #2
He was still talking, but she suddenly stood dead still.
She was looking across the river again, near where where she had found Hawk.
The buxom Indian maid remained in the general area, but now she was back in the water, her doeskin dress once again lying upon the branches of a tree.
Her back was to Skylar as she laughed softly, talking with a brave in the water, splashing him.
Skylar saw the brave, leaned back upon the embankment, scantily clad in breechclout and buckskins he didn’t seem to mind wetting any more than Hawk had minded.
From the rear, from the side, he looked very, very much like Hawk.
He lifted his dark head, his eyes focusing on Skylar, a brow rising.
It wasn’t actually a warrior. It was Sloan. Casual, muscled, bronzed, and yes, so very much like Hawk in that strange way they shared as mixed blood.
A smile of amusement flicked across his features, and she realized that she was standing there stark naked.
But even as she made that realization, the breath was knocked out of her again as she was swept up firmly from behind.
Hawk. His hold a vise once again, his body slick, wet—and burning.
He was angry with her. Nothing new. He was more than angry. He was furious and disappointed.
The Indian maid turned, smiled, and waved—bountiful breasts bouncing in the water.
She waved to both of them, Skylar thought.
With a gnawing in the pit of her stomach, she realized that Hawk had probably come to the river with Sloan.
He might have just been talking to the girl who was obviously close with Sloan.
Then again, she obviously might be close with everyone.
Hawk lifted a hand in turn to the girl and a very amused Sloan and hissed in her ear. “You ever take off naked again, Lady Douglas, and I promise you’ll spend a night lashed to a lodge pole!”
They were going back downriver again. She shivered in his arms, chilled by both the cold and his manner.
For once, she thought that she had been wrong.
Oh, God. She’d been hurt. She’d been jealous.
She’d behaved ridiculously. Why? Why had she allowed herself to care so much that she could behave so badly?
What was it about him that had seeped into her system, making her want him, making her care?
She felt like a total fool. She didn’t know how to apologize, and then again, he hadn’t behaved so very well himself. After everything else, he didn’t really deserve an apology.
“Hawk!” she cried out, gasping as she hit the cold water once more.
He ignored her, dragging her across the river until they stood in the sun once again, and he had picked up her dress.
“You’re the one who stripped the damn thing off!
Now you’re half killing me to get it back on. You had best make up your mind!”
“And you—!” he retorted, fingers threaded into her hair, tilting her head back so that she was forced to meet his eyes. “You had better be the best damned Sioux wife you’d ever want to imagine!”
He held her hair too tightly. Tears burned behind her lashes. “Damn you—”
“No, Skylar, this time, you’ve got no right! And you don’t know the least thing about fair play, about carrying out a bargain—”
“Fair play!” she gasped.
“You wanted money, you wanted it your way, sent to your exact specifications. I did exactly what you wanted. But those little things don’t mean a hell of a lot to you, do they?”
He released her so suddenly that she would have fallen had there not been a tree branch conveniently within reach as she stumbled back. It didn’t matter. She was chastely dressed once again, and he was walking away.
Shaking, she closed her eyes—regrouping whatever pride, strength, and dignity she could muster.
What really bothered her now was that he had seemed so disgusted with her lack of…
commitment? Fairness? She had to admit that he had sent the telegram exactly to her specifications.
Thankfully, as well, there was a great deal of Douglas money in eastern banks.
She had gotten precisely what she had asked him for.
And wasn’t that all that really mattered to her?
Skylar squared her shoulders and started back to the camp. She couldn’t be the absolutely perfect Sioux wife— she was going to need some help.
But she did believe in fair play, and she did owe Hawk. And Crazy Horse was coming to dinner.
When she reached the camp, she saw that people were watching a group of braves prepare to ride out of camp. Some of the men were adding touches of paint to their ponies and faces before mounting up. Hawk and Sloan were among the group. Neither seemed to notice her.
One brave, however, seeing her, suddenly broke from the group and came striding toward her.
He wore a red jagged slash of color down his face and no more.
The color partially hid a scar on his face, but neither the paint nor the scar diminished the fact that he was a striking warrior with strong chiseled features.
Arms crossed over his chest, he surveyed her without apology.
Skylar didn’t think she’d ever seen a more menacing warrior, but she determined to stand her ground and returned his perusal.
Yet even as she stared at the warrior, Hawk, chest naked but unpainted, strode to her side, pulling her in front of him as they both faced the man.
“Crazy Horse,” he said, then switched to Sioux for a moment.
She heard her own name spoken before Hawk returned to English, telling her, “Skylar, this is an introduction—acknowledge it!”
She longed to elbow her husband directly in the ribs. She controlled her temper, refrained from doing so, and nodded gravely to the impressive warrior before her. He smiled. He became completely different in that moment—a man like any other man. She smiled in return.
He said something to Hawk in Sioux. Hawk stepped by her, and the two men strode back to their party, swinging up with swift agility onto their horses.
Crazy Horse suddenly lifted his rifle into the air, letting out a frightening cry.
Skylar nearly jumped at the sound of it but managed not to do so.
Sloan raised a hand to her. He had quite a smile of his own, she thought.
For a man who could be so intense and determined, the charm and the sensuality in his grin were startling.
She flushed slightly, remembering that she had sauntered naked in front of one of her husband’s closest friends, yet it was with a certain encouraging friendliness that he smiled to her now.
Sloan was willing to do something Hawk was not. Accept her without terms.
As she watched, Sloan reached over, touching Hawk’s bare bronze arm. He spoke, and Hawk nodded, but Hawk’s back remained toward Skylar. He knew she was there. He wasn’t going to acknowledge her now as he rode away.
And he did not. He rode on ahead with the party, right behind Crazy Horse.
Sloan, however, rode back toward her for a moment. “Where are you going?” she asked him worriedly.
“Hunting.”
She nodded, glad to hear that they weren’t going on a raid. She glanced over Sloan’s bronze, barely clad body to the single feather in his hair. “If you run into army troops, they’re likely to shoot you and Hawk.”
Sloan nodded with a slight shrug. “We won’t be running into any troops. Not today. We’re heading west.”
“Crow country?”
“Probably not that far.”
She approached Sloan’s horse, frowning. “You’re only hunting to make sure there are no more Crow parties in the area, aren’t you?”
“We’re hunting because the season is still good. And maybe we’re looking for a few Crow.”
“Be careful, Sloan. Make him be careful, too, please.”
“We both know what we’re doing, Skylar.”
“Generals with every skill in the world and years of experience can be shot out of their saddles.”
“Skylar, we’ll be careful. By the way, what’s for dinner?”
The wicked gleam in his eye assured her he was well aware there might be controversy within her tipi.
“Something quite unbelievable,” she assured him sweetly.
Then she started, moving back, because from where she had stood, Sloan’s horse had blocked her view of the trail from the camp—and the fact that Hawk had ridden back along it.
He moved his horse alongside Sloan’s, talking to his friend.
“Are you joining us, or do you intend to flirt with my wife all day?”
Sloan refused to take offense. “I’d probably rather flirt with your wife. Actually, I was just asking about dinner.”
Hawk lifted a brow as he gazed down at Skylar.
“She’s assured me that the meal will be unbelievable,” Sloan said pleasantly.
“You came back to ask about dinner?” he demanded of Sloan.
“I’m hungry,” Sloan said simply. Hawk gazed at him through narrowed eyes. “And quite curious to discover your wife’s cooking talents. And besides, I thought she did deserve an explanation of where we were going.”
“Hunting,” Hawk said.
“And looking for Crows,” Skylar accused him.
Now Hawk was glaring at Sloan. Sloan lifted a hand. “I told her we know what we’re doing—”
“And I told him that the most experienced man can get himself killed.”
“I’m not going to get myself killed—if I’m the one you’re worried about. And you needn’t fear for yourself. My grandfather knows that in case something happens to me, you’re to be returned to Mayfair.”
“I’m not worried about getting back,” she told him.
“Then I guess we’re all just worrying about dinner,” Sloan interjected.
Hawk made no effort to hide his exasperation. He leaned toward Skylar, saying, “Lodge pole!” Then he kneed Tor and cantered off down the trail.
“Lodge pole?” Sloan demanded.
Skylar shrugged. “Is there any recourse Sioux women have against their husbands?”
“Divorce,” Sloan said cheerfully.
“Can’t she tie him to a lodge pole and take out her frustrations on him?”