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“I appreciate your kindness,” White Fire said, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice.
He eased his hand from the colonel’s. Then he turned to leave, stopping and turning around again to gaze in surprise at the colonel when he made an offer that seemed out of character.
“I know that you’ve been gone for the past three years, and during that time you have had no means to set aside the monies needed to settle into a normal life,” Colonel Russell said, rising from his chair. He went to a wall safe and opened it. “I am going to give you an advance on your pay so that you can purchase firearms and food.”
He glanced over at White Fire and raked his eyes slowly over him. Then his look turned to one of superiority. “Also clothes,” he said dryly. “The commissary will provide you with everything you need. Since my arrival at Fort Snelling, I have made certain that the commissary is well supplied at all times.”
White Fire was rendered speechless by this man whose feelings seemed as changeable as a chameleon.
White Fire squared his shoulders proudly. “I need no advance,” he said tightly. “I will do just fine.”
“I insist. I do not want it ever to look as though I am someone who treats a ’breed less kindly than someone else I might hire here at the fort,” Colonel Russell said, turning around to thrust a handful of bills toward White Fire. “Anyone who is assigned duties here at the fort who has seen hard times gets an advance on his pay.
” He frowned and sucked in a deep breath of air. “So, ’breed, do not take this as something special I do for you.”
“You know exactly what you are doing every time you are addressing me as a ’breed, don’t you?” White Fire said, placing his fists on his hips. “It is meant to put me in my place, to make me remember that my skin color differs from yours.” His jaw tightened. “If not for my son, and needing a job to help get Michael back, I would tell you to go to hell and spit in your face,” he growled out.
Then his lips quirked into a smug smile. “And there is something more that keeps me here at the fort,” he said smoothly. “And it has nothing to do with money, position, or my son.”
Colonel Russell eased his hand to his side and clutched the bills. He glared at White Fire. “And that is?” he said tightly.
“A beautiful woman with flaming red hair,” White Fire said, laughing bitterly when he saw the colonel’s face drain of color.
He ignored the rage that lit the colonel’s eyes. He walked to the door and opened it, then stiffened when the colonel was suddenly there, blocking his way.
“I know of only one woman whose hair is flaming red,” the colonel said, his teeth clenched.
“Exactly,” White Fire said, enjoying toying with the colonel’s emotions, yet understanding that there might be some danger in doing it.
But the colonel showed no threat to White Fire. The colonel’s hands were tied as far as White Fire was concerned. The colonel had to be aware of what the younger man’s position at the fort had been before he had been captured by the Sioux. Although he had never been given any rank in the army, he had been second to Colonel Snelling, admired and liked by everyone.
“You will try my patience one time too many. Then watch out, ’breed,” Colonel Russell snarled, his eyes lit with anger. He leaned his face into White Fire’s. “Stay away from my daughter, do you hear?”
White Fire smiled, then turned and left.
He went to his horse and swung up into his saddle. Then he rode in a slow trot from the courtyard, his eyes on the stately Snelling mansion.
His gaze went from window to window, wondering where Flame’s room might be. Might she even be there now, watching him? He had seen in her eyes that she found him intriguing.
Then he frowned as he remembered her father labeling him a ’breed today.
He had to wonder if Flame might look on him as nothing more than a ’breed.
He rode on from the courtyard, his mind elsewhere. He thought about the colonel’s offer of money. He smiled as he thought of where he had always hidden his own cache of money. His wife, Mary, had not even known the amount he had set aside, to be used should the need arise.
True, his Mary had been a sweet, compassionate wife, and a wonderful, caring mother. But she was also wont to spend money foolishly. She had seemed to have an addiction, like gamblers who throw their money away at the poker tables.
White Fire recalled the last time he had slipped coins and green bills into the tin box hidden behind a loose stone in the outside fireplace chimney. He mentally counted what he had placed there prior to his abduction. It was more than enough to buy a rifle and ammunition, a knife, food for his table, and some badly needed clothes.
Yes, he would go to the commissary, but the money spent there would be his, not the colonel’s.
But first he had a letter to write, to his mother. He could almost envision his mother’s face when she realized that he was alive.
He planned to tell her everything that had happened to him—about his time spent with the Sioux, his rescue, and also the kind offer from Chief Gray Feather to live with them as one with his Chippewa people. He had only spoken of the Chippewa a few times in his letters.
His mother would also be told about the chief offering his daughter to White Fire for marriage. That would touch a cord in his mother’s heart, since she herself was full-blood Indian, and knew the meaning behind such an offer from an Indian chief. To offer one’s daughter was to offer one’s own soul.
But most of all, White Fire would write at length about his son and the measures he must take to get his son back. He would tell his mother that a wife would be the true answer.
