Brides of Prairie Gold (36 page)

During the next hours the Indian women showed her their pouches of dyed quills and how they sewed the quills to moccasins and jackets and doeskin gowns. She watched a girl scraping an antelope hide, took a turn at it herself, admired a dozen children of various ages, observed their warlike games.

Pipe smoke wafted from the largest lodge, and occasionally a fierce-looking man emerged to stare at her, but none of the men spoke to her. Gradually the novelty of her visit dimmed and the women went about their chores and everyday life, laughing and calling to each other, leaving Mem to happily amuse herself by quietly observing.

Near four in the afternoon, a brief flurry erupted as two men trotted into the circle of tepees. Mem's eyebrows lifted in sheepish surprise when she recognized Webb's mustang.

For his entrance into the Sioux camp, he had stripped to the waist and loosened his black hair, letting it flutter free over bared shoulders. He'd twisted an eagle feather into his hair near the crown, and he rode bareback. Mem gazed at the hard muscles twitching on his naked chest and her mouth dried.

She wasn't the only woman affected by Webb Coate's powerful physique. The Indian girls cast him quick sparkling glances, then clapped hands over their mouths to smother giggles. The older women admonished them sharply, but they too ran speculative gazes over Webb's buttocks and thighs as he dismounted before the large tepee. They all giggled and glanced at Mem when Webb gave her a hard angry look before he ducked into the lodge.

At once Mem understood she was in trouble. But she decided it was worth it. For a few hours she had observed a different culture, a distinctive way of life, and had been captivated by all she had seen. She suspected this brief visit would be a highlight of her journey.

Accompanied by two of the many dogs in camp, dogs that never seemed to bark, she walked away from the voices shouting and murmuring in the large tepee, choosing to wait for Webb beside the willows bordering the trickle of water.

Here two naked chubby toddlers dug in the damp soil, playing beneath the watchful eye of an old grandmother as wrinkled as a dried apple. The grandmother refused to acknowledge Mem's presence, but the toddlers babbled happily and waved their digging sticks before returning to their play in the mud.

She smiled at the youngsters and imagined Webb's childhood in their dark eyes. She had seen him in the young boys hunting mice with small bows and arrows, had visualized him as one of the adolescents racing their ponies to win small wagers.

Sighing, she seated herself on a flat rock and wondered what it would be like to live a nomadic life, following game and the seasons, living one's life in a cozy tepee, sleeping on the softness of a buffalo robe.

The freedom and the closeness to nature appealed deeply. Then she thought about relinquishing a bed and the sunny smell of clean linen sheets. She considered giving up salty food and a warm winter house, lamps to read by and a cook-stove. She thought about never remaining in one place long enough to plant a garden.

There were difficulties with this culture that placed it beyond her comfort level. Her hostess for lunch had been an older wife; there was a younger wife as well. Both undoubtedly had watched their husband ride off to raid neighboring villages, not knowing if he would return alive. And there was something nasty hanging on a pole in front of the big lodge that Mem suspected might be a scalp. One of the women seemed quite proud of it.

No, despite some genuine attractions, Mem couldn't visualize herself living as an Indian. A life without basic comforts was, alas, not for her. And the hint of savagery disturbed her. Still there was much here to envy.

"Enjoying yourself?" a voice inquired over her head. And then, in Sioux that Mem couldn't interpret, "Perhaps someone would prefer a different site for the little ones."

The old grandmother did not look up at Webb, but she nodded and pushed to her feet. Surprisingly lithe, she led the children farther along the creek. Watching her go, Mem recalled that adult men and women did not address one another directly or publicly look each other in the eyes.

Since she didn't know if the villagers watched, she did not turn and look at Webb's face. She waited until he stepped around the rock and halted in front of her, folding his arms across his naked chest. At this moment he resembled a young god, with sunlight creating a halo around his black hair, the blue sky and lavender mountains behind him.

Her heart rolled in her chest. Had there ever been a more beautiful man? Surely his rightful place was on Mount Olympus, seated at the hand of Zeus.

"Did Mr. Snow send you to fetch me?" she asked quietly.

He glared at a spot directly above her head. "Broken Paw sent a rider to the train. He feared the whites would believe he'd taken you hostage and would send a war party to rescue you."

Mem frowned, nervously arranging the folds of her skirt across the rock. "I didn't think of that."

"You disappeared. No one knew where you'd gone." His voice was flat with anger. "Cody pulled the teamsters off treating the oxen and sent them all over the countryside searching for you." The muscles swelled on his shoulders and forearms. "This was a foolish and dangerous stunt, Mem."

Foolish, yes. She could see that now. But it had never entered her mind that she might be in danger. She looked up at him defensively. "I've been treated with the utmost courtesy."

"I know that because I know Broken Paw. But not all villages welcome intruders. You could very well have placed yourself in grave danger. As it is, the teamsters and half the brides are convinced you were carried off by hostiles against your will. Miles Dawson wanted to ride into this village with guns blazing to avenge your capture. If a man less knowledgeable than Cody Snow was wagonmaster of the train, people might have gotten killed because of your impulsiveness."

Her mouth dropped and she stared at him directly. "I came here of my own free will and I have not been ill treated. I've had a delightful afternoon!"

Exasperation added to the anger in his black eyes. But as they stared at each other, Mem finally spied a tiny hint of amusement. "What in the hell were you thinking of?"

"I wanted to see an Indian village," she answered simply, spreading her hands. "It's been wonderful." Sadness darkened her eyes. "But this will all vanish one day, won't it?" When he said nothing, she continued speaking.

"The skins around their lodges are buffalo. They sleep on buffalo robes, use every part of the animal for something vital to their existence." She met his gaze. "But how many buffalo herds have we seen? Three? Four? And how many white buffalo hunters? Hundreds." She shook her head, idly rucking up an auburn strand. "Eventually there won't be a buffalo left on the plains. Then what will these people do? How will they live?"

She recalled the tall piles of buffalo hides covering the ground at the gap, awaiting transportation east. The mountainous piles had stunk and attracted clouds of flies. That's what Mem had noticed, the flies more than the hides. Now she saw the forest behind the trees. The plains buffalo were being systematically slaughtered. When the buffalo vanished, so would the village behind them.

Appalled by her vision of the future, she frowned up at Webb. "If I were an Indian, I would hate the white men who killed the animal I need to live." The conflict and pain drawing his cheeks confirmed her speculation. "It's all going to explode, isn't it? Our culture against theirs?"

He stared at her. "Yes. That's one of the reasons why this will be the last trip west for me and for Cody."

"You'll return to England and manage your father's affairs."

He nodded, his eyes so black she could not distinguish the pupils. "What kind of woman has thoughts such as these?" he asked curiously, studying her face.

Her head dropped back and she gazed up at him. "You know who I am better than anyone else. Even Bootie. I'm a woman who wants to know things. A woman too inquisitive for her own good."

He studied her with a clarity that caused Mem to suck in a quick, soft breath. "I see you, Woman Who Wants to Know Things."

"I see you, Tanka Tunkan," she whispered.

Not taking his eyes from hers, he clasped her shoulders and drew her to her feet. Mem's heart beat so loudly that she thought certain he must hear drums in his ears. For a full minute, he gripped her shoulders while he studied her face.

Then he leaned down, gazing into her eyes all the while, and she knew he would kiss her. A soft sigh parted her lips and she closed her lashes, trembling with anticipation.

It was not the passionate kiss he had bestowed on Augusta in the moonlight. Mem's afternoon kiss was gentle, exploratory, perhaps an experiment. He moved slowly, tentatively, as if he expected her to jerk away from him. In truth, she could not guess what kissing her meant to him.

But for her, Webb Coate's kiss was a bolt of raw lightning, a hot thrill that raced from her mouth to rock body and spirit. This was the kiss she had abandoned hope of ever experiencing, but had dreamed of a hundred times. She understood now that her dreams were weak and pallid things compared to the genuine event.

When his mouth released hers, he gazed down at her with surprise in his black eyes, then he clenched his jaw. His fingers tightened on her upper arms and she thought he would kiss her again. Instead, he lifted his magnificent head and gazed toward the village before he looked at her again. "You have a brave heart, Woman Who Wants to Know Things."

"I wish we didn't have to return to the train," Mem whispered, wetting her lips. What people said to each other after kissing was unknown to her. She wanted him to kiss her again, wanted him to kiss her as passionately as he had kissed Augusta. In this moment of happiness and yearning, she longed to furnish a tepee with his things on one side, her things on the other. "I wish we could run away and travel with the village."

His speculative stare traveled over her face, her eyes, her lips. It seemed to Mem that his dark gaze burned her skin, leaving a fiery stain in its wake. Beneath her hot fingertips, his naked chest felt like sculpted rock. If she could have moved, even breathed, she might have run her hands over his body as she longed to do.

"I see you," he said again, his voice wondering and slightly puzzled.

Mem laughed. "I have always seen you, my dear friend."

"Come," he said finally, releasing her arms. He looked at her again, then walked toward his mustang.

She followed, knowing they adopted roles for the sake of village custom. The women emerged to surround her and bid her farewell in a language she cursed herself for not understanding. Webb spoke to the men, then he tossed Mem up on the mustang and mounted behind her. Slowly, they rode out of the shady ravine.

Dazed and wondering where today would lead, Mem was totally unaware of the children running after them. All she could think about was Webb's naked chest pressed against her back. The touch of him scalded her senses. For the first time, it occurred to Mem Grant that she was a lustful creature, a woman of the flesh.

Good heavens. Her eyebrows soared and a broad smile curved lips that still tingled from his kiss. She, Mem Grant, prim and proper spinster, was a woman brimming with lust. My, my. The realization delighted her. She hoped she was wanton too. Maybe, with the right man, she could even be a bit brazen. Wicked little shivers rippled through her body. When Webb's thighs curved around her buttocks and his arms reached around her for the reins, she closed her eyes and swayed dangerously, enjoying the wonderful new sensations awakening within her body.

Oh, yes. If the thoughts reeling hotly through her mind were any indication, she was exquisitely capable of being wanton and brazen. With the right man. This man.

Not trusting herself to speak, she relaxed in his arms, remembering every tiny detail of his tentative kiss, as they rode out onto the cactus-studded barren plain.

"What the"

The murmur near her ear tightened with tension. Mem's eyes flew open and she stiffened against his chest.

Now she heard distant whoops, saw rising dust circling the wagon train. "The train is being attacked!"

Her words were lost to the wind whistling past her ears as Webb dug his heels into the mustang's flanks and the mustang leaped forward.

Both of them leaned, Webb to urge the mustang faster, Mem to grip the flying mane and hang on for dear life. Webb didn't shout instructions; she knew instinctively that when he drew the mustang up in a cloud of swirling dust, she was to throw herself off. When she pushed up from the parched ground, spitting dust, he was gone, lost in billowing coils.

Ignoring the cactus spines stinging her palms, Mem crouched and ran, diving underneath the wagon in front of her. Knowing Webb, it didn't surprise her to discover she was beneath her own wagon, and Bootie was staring at her with tear-stained eyes.

"Oh, Mem, you poor, poor dear! Did the savages did they abuse you?" she whispered, her voice shaky with horror.

"Of course not!" Gunshots exploded from riders circling the wagons, answered by shots fired from the teamsters.

"What did they do to you?"

"Bootie!" She thrust up on her elbows, bumped her head on the bottom of the wagon, and gazed in exasperation at her disheveled sister. "We're in the middle of an attack!"

Bootie lay flat on her stomach, waving a hand at the dust flying in front of her face. "But what did they do to you? We were all so worried and terrified for your sake!"

"I went to the Indians of my own volition. They served me lunch and cool water. They showed me their homes, their sewing, and their children. I had a lovely time and I didn't want to come back! Nothing unpleasant occurred."

Pity saddened Bootie's eyes. "Oh, Mem. How very like you to put a brave face on it. You poor, poor courageous dear. We'll just try to rise above your horrible experience."

Mem dropped her forehead against crossed arms and made a sound of frustration that blew a puff of dirt and dust into her face. "If the attackers don't shoot us first, I'm going to strangle you. Who are those men, anyway?"