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Strange yes.
Wrong, she wasn't sure.
It didn't feel wrong looking at him so. It felt good, natural even. God made woman for man. Where was her man?
She looked down at Moon again, and her heart turned over. This was the only man that had opened her heart to the possibilities of love. And he opened it with a kiss.
Still, if he'd been awake, she'd never taken such privileges. It was only that he slept, that made her naturally curious about making love with a man. He had stirred to life something she thought long put away.
Love? Could it be?
And somehow, this man, Moon, had unlocked her heart without even trying.
She stared at him in his sleep. He was a handsome, man's kind of man. He was older, wise, strong, and intelligent. And there was this bond that kept growing between them.
What on earth had she been thinking? Touching him like that. She had no right to explore his body because he had a fever and would never remember it.
Something inside her ached to know more of him. Why? A relationship with an Indian was impossible, wasn't it? But he wasn't an Indian to her, he was a man. That was the difference. And that could obviously be a problem, she reasoned. Not all people thought that way. Not many at all.
She stared now from a distance at him. He had strong male features, a body that was lean, and tempting. So strong, such a good person. She liked him. Her feelings for him were stronger than any she'd had for any white man. She'd known a few white men, kissed a few, but nothing had ever come of it. She compared the kisses she had to Moon's and none of them were as mind boggling as his. None of them stirred her to a passion. None of them had made her curious about the male body before. Why? What was the difference? And this feeling that took her over now, had moved her. She'd couldn't explain it. She couldn't forgive her own boldness, nor resist it either.
She didn't understand. She was intelligent enough to know it would never work and she could not stop herself from touching his cheek. "You can't die on me," she whispered softly.
Suddenly an eye popped open and he stared at her for a long moment. He jerked himself up and put distance between them. "What were you doing?"
She stood up and came toward him, willing her guilty heart not to make itself known. "Trying to get your fever down. What do you think I was doing?"
He felt his cheek, it was hot. "Oh," he nodded.
"How do you feel?" she asked.
"I will be fine," he told her, standing tall.
"You're not fine yet. You'll keel over if you try to walk far." She told him. "That arm is infected."
"I will not!" he told her firmly.
"Fine," she huffed, "then let's go."
He took the blanket and bow and arrows and slung them across his shoulder. Then he took her hand and led the way. She carried the canteens on her shoulder. But they only got a mile or so down the pathway and he was weak and sweating.
"That arm isn't better," she told him. "You aren't better. You need to rest. And then we need to get to Jack's quickly."
"I will be fine."
Then he keeled over. "No, my sweet friend, you will not."
She rebandaged the wound, then dabbed his face again to bring the fever down. He called a woman's name out in his sleep and she heard it. Wondering who the woman was.
Was it the girl he had loved, long ago? She wished she knew. It made her uneasy and restless thinking on it. If his heart truly belonged to another, she had no right to touch him as she did. Guilt riddled her.
She was bad about keeping secrets, and even worse about telling on herself when she did something she shouldn't have. Moon didn't belong to her. A relationship with an Indian was futile, she told herself.
What had she been thinking, touching him like that?
Still
, she did no real harm, and she had been so curious. She had to forgive herself for touching him so.
