Blaze (40 page)

"Of course. As long as you're with me," she answered with the open, limitless emotion he found both bewitching and disconcerting.

"Does that mean you'll go on the buffalo hunt tomorrow?"

"Will other women go?"

"Some will."

"Isn't that lucky. Now I can say I'd love to. I would have gone anyway, but now it sounds polite rather than disagreeably pushy."

"It sounds as though I'm going to have a shadow." He was holding her in his arms and thinking how different his life had become since he'd met her.

"That's the general idea," Blaze cheerfully replied, then abruptly asked, "Am I allowed to kiss you in public?"

"Would it do any good if I said no?"

"No."

He groaned theatrically. "I foresee my consequence in tatters."

"Just as well. Consequence," she pronounced mischievously, "is much overrated."

"Might I recommend discretion, at least?" he asked with amusement.

"You can recommend all you want," Blaze sweetly replied.

"An Absarokee chief has a chief of his own, it seems," he said with a chuckle.

"You might say that," Blaze agreed, her smile part mischief, wholly female.

He ran his palms leisurely down her back and pulled her closer. In matters of love she could rule him with his blessing. And he told her so.

"I wasn't envisioning so circumspect a role."

"I thought perhaps you weren't," he responded, all courtesy and tact. "Maybe we should get back to the discussion of the buffalo hunt."

Blaze giggled. "Coward."

"Diplomat," he disagreed, warmth curling through his voice. "I'd never dream of ruining this delicious rapport…" And he changed the subject in a way he'd perfected years ago.

SUITABLE clothes were found for Blaze in the morning, and she, along with other sweethearts and special wives—all vividly dressed—rode their lovers' prized buffalo ponies out to the site of the hunt. The men never rode the buffalo ponies until the actual hunt in order to keep them fresh; the women, light on their backs, wouldn't tire the strong mounts.

They rode along Arrow Creek in the shadow of the cottonwoods. It was cool in the shade of the towering trees, the sun only beginning its journey across the sky. The herd was grazing just south of The-cliff-that-has-no-pass, a fast hour's ride. It would take them twice that long at this leisurely pace. Rising Wolf and his current sweetheart rode just ahead of Blaze and Hazard in a line of riders stretched out a mile or more.

While the hunters and their companions slowly followed the meandering creek, the young braves, stripped down and on display, raced alongside the procession, showing off their riding skills for their sweethearts and lovers. It was the most dramatic equestrian prowess Blaze had ever seen. In a split-second movement, they nimbly sprang off, then back on, their ponies while at an all-out gallop; agile as acrobats, they lightly balanced standing atop their speeding mounts, hung effortlessly beneath the bellies of their racing ponies, a hairbreadth from the flying hooves.

One lithe, muscled warrior turned a cartwheel on his horse's back, slid gracefully astride once again, and a scant five feet from a collision from Peta, careened his thundering pony aside.

"Be-se-che-waak, Dit-chilajash" (I like her, Hazard), he tossed over his shoulder as he galloped away.

Rising Wolfs girlfriend giggled. Blaze was still awestruck at the daring display.

Twisting half around, one hand resting on his horse's rump, Rising Wolf said in Absarokee, his smile wry, "Spirit Eagle's in his usual form, I see."

"Someone's going to have to teach him a lesson someday," Hazard replied in his own language, his tone carefully modulated.

Someday may be here sooner than you think," Rising Wolf replied, a grin supplanting the faint smile. Dainty Shield giggled again and whispered something to Rising Wolf. He turned back to Hazard. "Little Moon says—"

"I already heard," Hazard said.

"A new position for you," Rising Wolf said, chuckling. "How does it feel?"

"What is all this about?" Blaze interjected into the Absarokee passing back and forth, saving Hazard from having to probe his feelings on this new experience. He had always wooed women as Spirit Eagle had done today, openly in the way of their clan. Now his woman was the pursued for the first time and he was on the defensive.

"Boys' games. They like to show off," Hazard casually replied, but his territorial defenses were warned.

"Like you used to do?" Rising Wolf teased, the Absarokee a gentle drawl.

"You talk too much," Hazard growled, but he was smiling, so Blaze knew he didn't mean whatever he'd said.

Further along the way Hazard issued a list of instructions for Blaze's safety. "Once the herd starts moving, there's no stopping it. It may look magnificent and dramatic when you haven't seen one before, but anything remotely in its path is dead. Stay well back of the other women. Peta will mind you. Don't be foolish and don't take any risks."

"Do I look like someone who'd ride into a herd of buffalo?" Blaze asked somewhat indignantly, having patiently listened to Hazard's monologue of directions for the better part of five miles.

Hazard, riding beside her, turned his head and gave her a look of cordial assessment. "In my experience, princess," he said amiably, "you seem to do anything you set your mind to."

"That may be," Blaze as amiably conceded, "but I'm not inclined to race a herd of buffalo."

"I'm relieved to hear it."

"And I don't skin buffalo either."

He laughed. "That could make you the toast of Boston, darling. Maybe you should try." The dark look she cast him prompted him to add quickly, "Don't worry, love. Unlike other tribes, skinning buffalo isn't a woman's job. The men kill, skin, and butcher the buffalo and bring it back to camp. When I dump it in front of the doorway, it becomes your problem."

"Where do I find a frying pan that large?"

"And then again," he swiftly amended, recalling her cooking and not at all certain her remark was meant facetiously, "I'm sure we can make other plans."

"Now I'm relieved," Blaze laughingly responded and they both rested a little easier.

AS THE riders came within a mile of the buffalo, there was no talking except by signing. Buffalo, like most four-footed animals, were wind-readers, but there was nothing wrong with their hearing, so the barefoot ponies on well-grassed sod and the silent riders were noiseless as they approached. When they'd traveled another half-mile, the scout loomed up on a butte signing with his robe. It meant the herd was in sight and close. The signal caused everyone to spread out. Sliding from his pony, Hazard stripped off his skin shirt and leggings. Silently, he and Blaze traded horses, and kissing her lightly, he mounted his buffalo pony. The scout on the butte swung his robe twice around his head and dropped it. Before it hit the ground every buffalo pony was running, leaving little curls of dust in the grass behind them. Hazard's roan pony, decked out in feathers at tail and foretop, went wild at the scent and, without urging, sped like the wind toward the herd. At the top of the ridge, the buffalo —two thousand or so—were in sight, all spread out grazing. Before the clouds of dust starting rolling, Blaze caught a glimpse of Hazard shooting his first buffalo. He was leaning forward close to the roan's neck, his toes hooked under the pony's foreleg for balance, and firing with one hand. After that the galloping herd pushed him out of view.

An hour later the dust had settled over the grassy plain and hundreds of dead buffalo littered the landscape. The women rode down then with the young boys and old men, leading the pack ponies. Blaze found Hazard a mile away butchering a fat cow. He was sweating under the hot sun, cutting with precision in strong slashing strokes, his hands drawing Blaze's attention, as so often in the past, to their grace and strength. Several large portions of meat were already stacked on the hide he'd skinned.

"This could take a while," he grunted, heaving another large cut of meat onto the robe. "You might rather go back to camp."

"How many do you have to butcher?"

"I shot five, but my uncles are taking care of three of them." Hazard looked at the sun. "It'll take me at least another two hours." The sun was almost torrid as it reached its zenith. The buffalo horse was lathered and panting; Hazard's bare body clothed only in a breech cloth glistened with sweat. "Why don't you get out of the sun?" he suggested, blowing a strand of hair out of his eyes.

"I don't mind the sun," Blaze replied, jumping off Peta.

Looking at her, bare-headed, bare-armed, barelegged, he said, "Boston society won't approve of your brown skin."

"I'm not going back, so I can get as brown as I like."

Hazard didn't respond, but continued, his knife cutting and carving with a sureness honed by scores of buffalo hunts. All he could think of was the pleasure in her staying.

"Did you hear me?" Blaze asked, dropping down on the trampled grass in a flurry of beaded fringe.

Hazard's knife stopped then. Half turning his head, he gazed at her from under dark lashes. "And if your father has different ideas, or your mother maybe, or Yancy Strahan?"

"Do you want me to go back to Boston?" She waited for his answer without breathing.

His gaze didn't flinch. "You know I can't think about what / want. I have to worry about my claim and my people."

It wasn't the answer she wanted, but it wasn't negative either. She resumed breathing. "Discounting those problems," she impulsively pressed, her voice suddenly timid, never in her coddled life having wanted anything so fiercely.

"If we discount those problems, we discount the world, bia," he quietly said, jabbing abstractly at the ground with his knife point.

"Just say we could."

"A dream world." He smiled indulgently. "Is that it?"

"Yes. Then what? Say it is, Hazard, then what?" she demanded.

"Then, sweet puss," he softly said, "I'd want you with me. I'd never consider living in my dream world without you."

"It's going to work out," Blaze happily replied, with irrepressible spirit. "Just wait and see."

"As it always has for the pampered Miss Brad-dock?" Hazard mildly inquired.

"Just so," Blaze impetuously agreed, and in a whirl of happiness and flying fringe she launched herself at Hazard. She knocked him backward, falling atop his sprawled form, and kissed him capriciously, heedless of others, only knowing he was her whole world.

His own reactions as rashly ungovernable with Blaze's soft body pressed into his, Hazard returned her kisses. Smiling and laughing and kissing, they rolled like puppies at play, the clean fragrance of crushed grass like heady perfume in their nostrils. "You're a tempting distraction," Hazard whispered long moments later, half out of breath, their positions reversed with his glistening body atop hers, "but—"

"But what?" Blaze lightly panted, the playful wrestling having winded her as well.

"But the ants are going to eat the two buffalo I'm supposed to be butchering."

"Really?" Blaze playfully murmured.

"Word of honor. Perhaps a raincheck for—"

"An hour from now?"

Hazard quickly glanced at the two carcasses he'd yet to complete butchering. "Make it two and I'll show you a quiet mossy pool not too far from here."

"Deal," she said with a wide grin. "Let me help."

Pushing himself away, Hazard drily said, "If you help, it'll take three hours."

"I shan't raise a finger," Blaze quickly acceded.

Hazard set a new record skinning the second buffalo.

THEY rode to an abrupt break in the terrain a few miles distant, where a deep chasm cut through the undulating grassy highlands and a strange bluff loomed like a tower at its entrance. Dismounting, they were immediately cooled by the shaded slope thick with foliage and undergrowth and cascading trees that had partially fallen down the bluff and chasm walls. "Wait," Hazard said, leading the horses through the dark, wild underbrush before returning for Blaze.

The ground sloped steeply down and after twenty paces into the lush vegetation the silence was rich and fragrantly verdant. Sunlight, gold and pale yellow, found its way in serene shafts of light through the overhead canopy of green. They passed silently through the hushed wildness of growth and burgeoning fertility, the scents of blooming wildflowers and green-tipped elders pungent in their nostrils. Holding Blaze's hand to guide her through the strange undercliff, Hazard looked at her with a smile.

And then suddenly he was holding back a ladened plum bough and inviting her forward.

Blaze stepped into a little green meadow studded with clumps of buttercups and drifts of wild roses. It was a tiny south-facing dell surrounded by enormous soaring ash trees and cottonwoods—a kind of opulent paradise. Two cherry trees framed the inlet of a large, clear pool that trickled away to the east over a rustic outcropping of moss-covered rock. Warblers and thrushes sang overhead. It was rare and beautiful like a jewel.

"Would you like a swim?" Hazard asked. "I would. Unless, of course," he teasingly said, "the sight of blood excites you." His glistening bronzed body, stripped to a breechcloth, was smeared with buffalo blood.

"We Boston debs were always taught," Blaze mockingly replied, her eyes a twinkle, "to ask a man to wash off the butcher's blood from his body before making love. It's rule number two."