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She gazed at the child. She knew that he was White Fire’s son without even being told. Although his skin was white, so many other things about the child resembled White Fire—the set of his jaw, the coal black hair, the dark eyes.
She smiled when White Fire started toward her on his white steed, his son beside him on his pony. She waved, then sank her heels into the flanks of her horse and rode in a hard gallop toward them.
Her heart beating excitedly inside her chest, Flame drew rein and brought her horse to a shimmying halt beside White Fire. He also drew a tight rein, his eyes wide and questioning as he gazed at her.
“White Fire, I went to your cabin,” Flame said, before he had a chance to say anything. “I was so disappointed when I found that you were gone.” She smiled broadly. “What luck that I found you.”
His gaze swept over her. His pulse raced hot and swift through his veins at the very nearness . . . of the very sight of her. Today she had on riding clothes that were less constricting and formal. She wore a fully gathered, dark riding skirt made of yards of material, and a white, long-sleeved blouse. Its buttons were undone at the neck, revealing a teasing sight of her deep cleavage. Her hair was free of a hat and worn loose and flowing across her shoulders and down her back. Her cheeks were flushed pink from her brisk ride.
“Father, who is this lady?” Michael said, bringing White Fire out of his momentary trance. “How does she know your name? I heard you say the name Flame when you first saw her. Is that her name?”
“Yes, son, her name is Flame,” White Fire said, his eyes now locked with Flame’s. “How does she know my name? Michael, we are friends . . . very good friends.”
“And so this is Michael,” Flame said, riding around to be next to Michael. She reached a hand out toward him. “I’m glad to make your acquaintance, Michael. I hope that you and I can be good friends.”
Her gaze raked over him. She was aghast at the boy’s attire, and how his adopted mother chose to make him wear his hair. She could not believe that any mother would want to make a boy appear as such a sissy.
Otherwise, up close, yes, she saw again his resemblance to White Fire. If his skin was copper . . .
Michael placed his tiny hand in Flame’s, enjoying the feel of her buttery soft gloves against his flesh. He also loved her hair and eyes. Her eyes were so green. Her hair was so red. And if he were an older man like his father, he would fall quickly and madly in love with this woman.
“I would like to be your friend,” Michael quickly said, his white teeth shining as he gave Flame one of his biggest smiles.
“Then friends we are,” Flame said, laughing softly when she started to remove her hand and he still clung to it.
Seeing how quickly Flame and Michael were smitten with one another, White Fire smiled to himself. Perhaps he could expect things to work out for him and his son after all. He now thought that it would be easy to draw Michael into accepting Flame for a mother.
It did not even seem wrong that there were just twelve years between Michael and Flame. That surely would not be a deterrent in how they would get along as mother and son, for it was obvious that they already were drawn to one another.
Then White Fire thought of something else: of last evening, and Flame’s hasty flight from the fort. He must know why.
He felt compelled to scold her again about riding alone so often. She tempted fate too often with her foolhardiness.
He rode around and sidled his horse up next to Flame’s. “I saw you at dusk last evening,” he said, quickly drawing her eyes to him. “I saw you leave the fort in haste. That concerned me. I tried to follow you. By the time I got my horse, you were already out of sight. I searched, but never found you again. I waited on a knoll until I saw you go back through the gate into the fort.”
Flame slid her hand free of Michael’s. “Yes, I left home in haste last evening,” she said softly. “Because of my father. He badgered and badgered me about where I had been yesterday. I was not about to tell him, for you know how enraged he would have been knowing you and I were together.”
“But you do know the dangers of leaving the fort and riding off in such a way, especially at that time of evening,” White Fire said, realizing how scolding his tone was the minute the words had escaped across his lips.
He saw an instant anger leap into Flame’s eyes and knew that she did not appreciate him preaching to her after having just told him how upset she had gotten after her father had scolded her.
“You too?” she said, her eyes wavering. “White Fire, please don’t start on me, also, about what I do and don’t do. I am my own person. Why can’t anyone see that?”
Near tears, she wheeled her horse around and rode away.
White Fire glanced down at Michael, whose eyes were wide from having listened to perhaps his first lovers’ quarrel.
“Stay here, Michael,” White Fire softly encouraged. “I will be only a moment.”
Michael nodded.
White Fire rode after Flame.
When he caught up with her, he reached over and took her reins from her. Her eyes flashing angrily at him, he drew her reins tightly and stopped her horse as he brought his own to a quick stop.
“Give me back my reins,” Flame cried, yanking hard and unsuccessfully on them.
“Not until you listen to what I have to say,” White Fire said, glad to see her shoulders finally relaxing. “Darling Flame, I was wrong to scold you. It will not happen again.”
