She did so at once, but still Swift Hawk wasn’t finished. She watched as he gathered together more of the long grass and branches and bushes, placing them around and over the lean-to until it looked as though it were a part of the landscape. Lastly, with her shotgun, he dug a ditch around their lean-to that would allow water to run off of them, into the ditch and eventually into the creek.
Drenched, yet his work done, Swift Hawk crawled into the shelter, setting the guns and his other weapons off to the side. Briefly, he gazed at Angelia and smiled before he opened his arms and invited her into them.
For the moment, they sat entwined. They were drier and safe from the storm. She was cold and he warmed her. She trembled and he calmed her.
At last he said, “I think we should rest.”
“Yes,” she agreed readily.
Barely had the word left her mouth than she turned her head toward him and shivered. Gradually she felt the gentle touch of his lips against the top of her head.
It was a comforting feeling, yes. However, from out of nowhere came a streak of desire, and she scooted in closer to him. She even placed her arms around his waist and pulled on him.
But if Swift Hawk knew what was in her mood, if he was experiencing an answering bolt of desire, he was greatly adept at hiding it.
Instead, he began to sing her a song, his low-pitched voice comforting, though she could little understand the words.
He rubbed at her hair, at her shoulders and neck, and her tired muscles relaxed. At some length, the song finished, and he said softly, “You should sleep. You are safe now. Sleep.”
Exhausted, she did exactly that. Though her dreams were filled with the images of a man called the Thunderer, whothreatened and chased her with lightning bolts, she still slept peacefully. After all,hewas there beside her, there to protect her.
Chapter
Nineteen
“Ai, that is true,” Weasel Tail agreed. “They cannot sit quietly together. They have so much to say: ‘Do you love me? Why do you love me? Will you always love me?’ Such are the questions they ask each other, over and over again, and never tire of answering.”
—JAMES WILLARD SCHULTZ,MY LIFE AS AN INDIAN
Fort Leavenworth
“This is what them two look like, gov’na.” Hat in hand, Jack Hooper extended the writ and the wanted posters toward Colonel Davenport. “They’s brother ’n’ sister.”
The colonel paused, then frowned. “Yes, they were here at the fort. The young man was hired as a scout for the wagon train that left for Santa Fe, oh, about a month ago. His name was…well, I can’t seem to recall it, but his sister’s name was Angel, or something like that.”
“That’s them. They’s wanted criminals back home.”
“Are they? What have they done?”
“Murder, sir.”
“Murder? It hardly seems possible. Both so young, good manners—seemed to be nice folks.”
“Well.” Hooper fiddled with his hat. “It’s almost murder.”
“Almost?”
“Man that them two shot’s on ’is deathbed. Should be dead any day now, way I figure.”
“On his deathbed? Which is it, man? Murder or attempted murder?”
Hooper cringed. “Don’t rightly know. Man should oughta be dead by now. Takes a while, now, ta get here from Mississippi.”
“I see,” said the colonel. “What is known for certain then is that they attempted murder?”
“Ah…ah.” Hooper scratched his head. “Could be.”
“And there is a five thousand dollar bounty for them?”
