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His loins reacting to her steady gaze, to the intensity of it, White Fire knew now that he had not been wrong to think that she felt something for him. He could tell that she was glad that he had attended the ball.
When she was whisked away by her partner across the dance floor, and too far away now for White Fire to see anything of her but the flowing skirt of her dress, he looked guardedly around the room for Colonel Russell.
His gaze stopped when he found the colonel standing with other officers who had come from the neighboring forts with their wives for this special occasion. They were smoking fat cigars and holding long-stemmed glasses of wine and champagne, while their wives stood in a cluster, gossiping, as they watched the dancers.
A keen sadness crept into White Fire’s heart. In his mind’s eye he saw Josiah and Abigail standing in the crowd, their smiles beaming as one, and then another would come up to them and chat awhile.
Strange, though, how it felt to White Fire that the Snellings were there, their presence absolutely certain in everything that he looked at in the room.
He gazed at the rosewood grand piano that Abigail had taken pleasure in playing. White Fire had to surmise that whatever pieces of furniture belonging to the Snellings that had been left behind were only left because of the hardships of moving them the long distance to St. Louis.
His gaze shifted, admiring now, as he had the first time he had seen them, the doors inlaid with German silver and bronze, and the gold-and-silver chandeliers. He gazed at the art-glass windows in the walls, and the numerous paintings.
The music stopped, drawing White Fire out of his reverie. His eyes searched for Flame again, stopping and staring at her when her father whisked her from the dance floor, his arm possessively around her waist as he introduced her to his guests.
When her father called her by the name Reshelle, White Fire smiled, for he saw her cringe and understood that she must hate the name.
As Colonel Russell boasted about his daughter, his gaze moved slowly around the room. White Fire stiffened, for he knew that soon he would look in his direction.
Although hidden where the bright candlelight barely reached, White Fire felt that if the colonel saw him, it would cause his mood to darken. It might make it uncomfortable for Flame and ruin the excitement of the night for her.
Quietly White Fire stepped out of the parlor and into the corridor. He looked up the steep staircase. Not only were the bedrooms upstairs, but also the study, where he had enjoyed many a pleasant evening
with Colonel Snelling.
He glanced back inside the parlor and saw that Colonel Russell was still holding his daughter “hostage” at his side as he continued to talk about her. This gave White Fire the freedom he needed to go upstairs and sit one last time with Josiah Snelling, or at least with his memory.
Taking the steps two at a time, he hurried to the study. Once inside, he slowly closed the door, then turned and felt the true heartbreak of missing his friend when he looked around the room and saw that nothing had changed since he had last been here. He saw the true haste in which the Snellings had departed the fort. Not only had Abigail’s prized piano and their artwork been left behind, but also the colonel’s grand oak desk, his many volumes of books lining the walls in oak bookcases, and the hand-carved Palo Verde wood sofa upholstered in red velvet.
Inhaling a deep breath, trying to break free of this melancholy that was overwhelming him, White Fire went farther into the room. He stood over the desk, envisioning Josiah sitting behind it in his leather chair.
Even Josiah’s pipe stand had been left on the desk and in it were all the pipes he had smoked from during White Fire’s visits. Swallowing hard, so immersed in painful remembrances, he delicately touched one pipe, and then another. Then he gazed at the journals that lay sprawled across the desk. One was open, revealing inked-in entries.
Knowing Colonel Snelling’s neat way of writing, he knew that these entries were recent ones, for they were of a handwriting unfamiliar to him. They had been written by Colonel Russell.
Suddenly White Fire sensed a presence in the room. As the feeling became stronger, it was as though someone else was there. Possibly Josiah Snelling’s ghost?
White Fire did feel as though that if he chanced to speak aloud to his friend, Josiah would hear and respond.
Footsteps entering the room behind him made White Fire turn with a start. Discovering who was standing in the doorway made White Fire laugh softly.
“Flame,” he said, wondering if she could sense his relief at seeing her there. If she did, she would never expect that relief was because he was not being visited by a ghost of his past.
“I saw you leave the parlor,” Flame said, lifting the hem of her skirt in her hands as she moved farther into the room. “I needed a respite from my father, as well as the noise. In truth, I need a breath of air.”
“If you needed fresh air, why did you come up here to get it?” White Fire asked, his lips tugging into a slow, teasing smile.
“Because I left the room just in time to see you come up the stairs,” Flame said, moving to stand before him. She tilted her eyes up to hold with his. “I have been told of your relationship with Colonel Snelling. I thought you might be here in his study, reliving special moments with him.”
“And so you wanted to share them with me?” White Fire said, lifting a hand to gently touch her cheek. He noticed how quickly she took in a breath of air, and how the look in her eyes became soft with passion.
“I wanted to be with you, no matter where, or how,” Flame said softly. She lifted her lips in an invitation to be kissed. “I want more than that. I have for so long thought of how it might feel to be kissed by you.”
Hardly believing what was transpiring, having never thought that Flame would be this daring, especially when her father could come in at any moment and discover them together, White Fire hesitated.
Then he took her by a hand and took her toward the French doors that led out on a balcony.
When they were outside in the spill of moonlight, surrounded by the heady fragrance of honeysuckle blossoms, and with the doors closed behind them, White Fire took Flame into his arms.
