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She gazed up into his eyes from where she stood a head shorter than he, and found him gazing just as intently back at her. Her knees felt strangely weak.
She smiled somewhat bashfully, then stepped away from him and hurried toward the front of the stagecoach.
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Suddenly she felt strong hands at her waist, lifting her, and a moment later she found herself sitting on the driver’s seat. Thunder Horse placed the reins in her hands.
She tried not to see the blood on the seat that had been left there by the horrible murder of the driver.
She made herself focus on getting into Tombstone.
“Are you certain you can do this?” Thunder Horse asked, bringing her eyes back to his. “Will you be alright?”
Jessie still could not believe the gentleness of this chief.
But it was clear he was concerned about her. She could tell by the softness and the careful way he had lifted her onto the seat.
Actually, she hated to leave him, for she doubted that she would ever see him again. It was obvious he normally avoided white people.
“Yes, I’ll be alright,” she finally replied. “But . . .”
The pleading in her eyes as she gazed into his made Thunder Horse feel there was a real connection between them, yet he knew that he must avoid these feelings.
He must remember that she had come to this territory for her own reasons. Reasons that had nothing to do with him.
Someone must be waiting for her in Tombstone, where many evil men lived. He could not even imagine that sort of man touching this beautiful, sweet, and gentle lady.
“You were about to say?” Thunder Horse prompted, eager to know what else she might need from him.
In truth, he hated letting her go, for more than likely, he would never see her again.
“I would feel better if you could stay close enough to watch me get safely to Tombstone,” Jessie blurted out.
Then she said, “But I wouldn’t want you to be close enough so you would be seen. I . . . wouldn’t . . . want you to get into trouble over me.”
She wondered at herself for asking help of an Indian, when it would make more sense to be afraid of him. She had read horror stories about what some Indians did to white women. But she just couldn’t see this man committing such crimes as rape or murder.
“I will ride far enough behind you not to be seen, yet close enough to make certain you are not accosted again before you reach the town of Tombstone,” Thunder Horse promised.
He was curious to know why she was going to a place like Tombstone by herself. But he didn’t ask. Such a question would surely make her uneasy.
Instead, he would see her safely to the outskirts of Tombstone, then hurry on his way. He was anxious to get back home to his ailing father.
His father did not have much time left on this earth, and it was his father’s health that had kept Thunder Horse from taking his people to the reservation assigned to all Sioux.
“Thank you again for what you did for me,” Jessie said, hating to say good-bye.
These moments would stay with her forever. When she was sad and lonely, she would think of Thunder Horse.
“Go with care,” Thunder Horse said, nodding at her.
“I shall,” she murmured, then took one last lingering look into his eyes before forcing herself to turn away from him.
She snapped the reins, and the team of horses responded to her command, taking off in the direction of Tombstone.
Thunder Horse waited for a moment, then followed a good distance behind her. As he watched her riding ahead of him, his thoughts went again to his people’s situation.
Ho, yes, the white chief in Washington had given permission for some of Thunder Horse’s band of Sioux to stay at their village until his father passed on to the other side. His father would then be placed with the other chiefs in the sacred burial cave of those who had gone on before him.
