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He limped slowly around to the front of the cabin. The slow spiral of smoke rising from the chimney indicated that his wife, Soft Wind, was out of bed, preparing herself for her daily chores.
“She always rises with the sun,” he grumbled to himself, recalling the many times that he had grabbed her back down onto the bed with him.
A wicked smile fluttered across his lips at the thought of her silken, copper body next to his. When she had been sixteen he had found her at an orphanage in Kentucky and had taken her away, with promises that if she married him, she would never want for another thing.
Soft Wind had been so grateful to him for having rescued her from a life where she had lacked identity that she had done everything to make him a perfect wife. And she had succeeded. He had been content with her.
Until she was with child. He had silently hoped throughout her pregnancy that the child would reflect his heritage. Not hers.
When their son had been born and every inch of him was Indian, Clint had not been able to openly love the child. Each time he looked at Brian Brave Walker he would be haunted by the Cherokee children whom he and his regiment had so viciously slaughtered that day in the Great Smoky Mountains during the Civil War. Killing had come so easy to him, no matter were they children or adults. He had joined the Union to kill anyone whose beliefs differed from his.
The Smoky Mountain Cherokee were among those who had not seen eye to eye with Clint’s.
He had made them pay for those differences.
Now he was paying for what he had done to those people by not being free to love and embrace his very own son.
His thoughts returned to Mattoon and how ironic it had been that he had come face to face again with another Cherokee of his past.
Dancing Cloud.
Seeing the Cherokee, stalking him just outside Mattoon before Dancing Cloud arrived there with Lauralee, had convinced Clint that he was the Cherokee who filled his very soul with hate; the Cherokee who made his heart cry out for vengeance.
Grumbling to himself, half dragging his wooden leg behind him, Clint shoved the front door open. Upon first glance into the small cabin be found his wife and ten-year-old son cowering against the far wall, their eyes filled with fear at the mere sight of him.
“Is this the kind of reception I can always expect from my wife?” Clint said, glowering at Soft Wind. His eyes softened as he raked his eyes over her. Her sleek, black hair hung long and beautiful across her shoulders and down her back. Her tiny waist and her large bosom were revealed to him and made his heart skip a hungry beat as the buckskin fabric of her dress clung sensually to her curves.
He had missed her.
He never stopped hungering for her.
His gaze shifted to his son. It took him aback somewhat to see the look of defiance in Brian Brave Walker’s eyes. At first glance it had looked as though he was cowering.
In truth, it was his mother who held Brian Brave Walker in place so that he would not be able to display his disobedience to his father openly.
Clint went across the room, past the fancy, overstuffed chairs that he had brought to Soft Wind in an effort to please her after realizing that she not only feared him, but bated him as well. Clint stopped in front of her and gathered a handful of her hair in his fingers and gave it a yank, causing her to cry out with pain and stumble toward him.
“The baby,” he said thinly. “Where’s the baby?”
Soft Wind nodded toward a small cradle in the shadows.
Clint released Soft Wind’s hair and lumbered over to the cradle. Leaning over, he unfolded a blanket from around the small baby, then slung his hands into the air in a fit of fury.
“It’s a girl and her skin is not white!” he shouted. “She is Indian! Just like her brother, she is Indian through and through.”
“Please do not be angry,” Soft Wind sobbed. “She is a beautiful child no matter what color her skin is. Please do not harm her!”
Clint went to Soft Wind and grabbed her by the shoulders. He shook her as he leered down at her. “I told you what I’d do if that brat was Indian!” he shouted. “I’m going to take her away!”
“No!” Soft Wind cried. “Do not take my baby away!”
“Shut up, squaw,” Clint said, giving her another rough shake. He then shoved her down onto the bed and stood with his fists on his hips over her. “She won’t stay another night beneath my roof. Do you hear? I’ll never lay claim to her. Never!”
“Leave my mother alone,” Brian Brave Walker said, taking a bold step toward his father. “I told her she should leave with my baby sister when she had the chance. She should not have to give in to your abuse only because you rescued her so long ago from an orphanage.” Brian Brave Walker thrust his bare chest out proudly above his fringed buckskin breeches. “I told Mother that I could care for her and my baby sister.”
Clint backhanded Brian Brave Walker in the mouth, causing a trickle of blood to spill down his chin. “You shut your mouth, savage brat,” he snarled. “You’d best keep your suggestions to yourself as far as your mother and sister are concerned. You know that I told her if she ever left I’d hunt her down and kill her. I don’t want no other man pawin’ her. She’s mine. All mine. So you see, brat, she ain’t goin’ nowhere. As far as you are concerned, I’d welcome your absence in my home. I ain’t never had no use for you, nor have you for me. There’d be no love lost if you’d just walk away and not set foot on my property again.”
Clint went and stood over Brian Brave Walker, his eyes narrowed. “Go,” he said darkly. “But don’t bring anyone back here thinkin’ you’re going to rescue your mother and sister. I’ll shoot anyone who gets near my property. Even you.”
