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He stopped and gazed down at her.
He was touched anew by her loveliness.
And asleep there was such a quiet beauty about her . . . such a soft innocence.
Her hair lay around her head like a splash of sun’s glow. Her long, thick lashes rested upon her cheeks like veils. And her lips, parted only slightly, made him long to kiss her.
Slowly he knelt beside her, so close he could feel her soft breath upon his bare knees. It was hard not to reach out and run a finger across those lips, harder still not to bend low and press his lips to hers.
But he recalled with much regret how she had denied him a kiss only a short while ago. Yet he was not hurt or angry. He understood her denial, without her even explaining it to him.
It was because he was of a different culture . . . a different color.
He was of the people who had taken her husband’s life and stolen her son from her. Would she always see her husband’s death and her son’s abduction when she gazed into Brave Wolf’s eyes, even though he’d had no role in either?
Or would she one day allow herself to realize that he was of a different breed from those who’d fought upon that battlefield where all white eyes had died, among them her husband?
Was he fooling himself to believe that a small part of her cared for him, no matter the color of his skin? How could he not believe that, when she gazed at him with the look of a woman who felt desire for a man?
When she began stirring, Brave Wolf rose quickly to his feet and sat opposite the fire from her. He did not want to alarm her by staying so close, observing her. He must be patient and hope that she would soon let down her guard and allow herself to feel . . . to love. . . .
Mary Beth yawned, licked her lips, then slowly opened her eyes.
Just as her eyes caught sight of the fire, and then the walls of the tepee, she was again reminded of where she was, and why.
David sprang quickly to her mind and just as quickly brought tears to her eyes.
She wiped away the tears as she slowly rose to a sitting position. And then she saw Brave Wolf sitting so quiet across the fire from her, his gaze upon her.
In a flash of memory she recalled their last moments together and how she had denied him a kiss. Even worse, she had denied herself the kiss.
She was filled with pangs of guilt. Surely he hated her now.
Yet as her eyes held his, she saw no hate, no resentment.
She saw something akin to adoration and knew without a doubt he had fallen in love with her, just as she had with him.
She hated this complication. He was Indian. She was white. She hated that word “forbidden.”
How could something so beautiful be wrong?
Yet she still felt a twinge of guilt over falling in love with him so quickly and never loving Lloyd at all in that special way.
And Lloyd was dead for such a short time!
“Did you get some rest?” Brave Wolf asked, choosing to break the awkward silence.
He could read people well . . . even women, and knew that she was battling many conflicting emotions.
He hoped she would soon win the battle and allow herself to love him. Life was short. When one found a true love, one must act, or risk losing it forever.
“Yes, I feel very much rested,” Mary Beth said, then laughed softly. “I do not even recall falling asleep. It . . . just happened.”
“These past days have taken a toll on you,” Brave Wolf said thickly. “It is only natural that you would seek the solace of sleep.”
She ducked her head so that he would not see a resurgence of tears. “Yes, what I have gone through has been terrible,” she murmured. “I do welcome those moments when sleep takes the memories away, if only for a short while.”
“I have sent many of my warriors out to search for your son,” Brave Wolf said, drawing her eyes quickly to him. “I explained to them that he is a young brave of five winters, and that his hair is how you described it to me . . . the color of wheat. I told them that his eyes are blue like the sky.”
