White Owl (4 page)

“Aunt Maggie would be mighty pleased to see you wearin’ that fancy riding outfit, even if there is nobody else around to see how pretty you look
in it,” Colleen called out to her daughter just before she disappeared into her bedroom.

By the time the Adair family had settled down for dinner, Rose was beginning to recover from her encounter with the Ute brave.

“What kind of trouble did you get into today, Rosie girl?” Paddy Adair joked as Rose served him coffee. “Whoa there, that’s enough,” he said as he gestured for her stop pouring.

“Sorry.” Rose attempted to giggle as the coffee splashed over the top of her father’s cup. “I-I went for a short ride, just down by the creek.” She glanced at her mother and met her unwavering gaze. Her mother’s hair was a light shade of brown, but her eyes were the same vibrant blue hue as her own. Rose looked away quickly.

“You know how I feel about you riding out there alone. It ain’t safe, even if you are on our own land. Them Ute, they still think they own the entire country.”

“I know, Father,” Rose answered quickly. “I am careful. Believe me, the last thing I want to do is to encounter any Indians.” Her voice trembled slightly, so she quit talking and turned away without offering anyone else a coffee refill.

The lantern that sat in the middle of the long wooden table cast a golden haze on Paddy Adair’s pale red hair as he shook his head and added, “I heard Agent Meeker has them Injuns all stirred up again and that he’s been writin’ letters to the army askin’ for help in case of an uprisin’. That could
mean bad news for folks like us. We’d be sittin’ ducks out here in the middle of nowhere if them Ute decided to start a war.”

Rose set the coffeepot down on the counter but did not turn back around toward the table. Her father’s words spun through her mind. The rest of the conversation about the possibility of an Indian revolt was lost to her as she was engulfed by a deep sense of humiliation. Her foolish actions could put her entire family in terrible danger. She could never allow herself to go to the Ute racetrack again, and somehow, she had to find a way to escape from the strange longings she had felt when the handsome warrior had enslaved her in his strong embrace.

It had been two days. White Owl had been so certain that the girl would come back. The fact that she thought she could ignore him made his blood boil. He had come here today because in two days’ time he would begin the
tagu-wuni
, meaning “standing thirsty.” For four days until the end the Sun Dance, the most important ceremony of the year for his people, he would not eat or drink anything. He would not be able to leave the Sun Dance lodge until the end of the festivities. He could not wait that long to see his Wild Rose again.

Finding her family’s land had not been that difficult once he crossed Milk Creek and headed northeast. He had come upon a block of rock salt that had been put out for cattle—a sure sign that there were white men in the area. Utes did not bother with such unnecessary luxuries for their livestock. When he came across a sizable herd of cattle, he had no doubt that he was getting close to one of the homesteads that were springing up on what used to be Ute land.

A couple of riders had forced White Owl and his pony to hide behind a cluster of large boulders.
As the two men—one older, one younger—had ridden past, White Owl was certain he was on the right property. Both men had red hair and pale complexions, but the younger of the two almost looked like a male version of his Wild Rose. Beneath his wide-brimmed hat, the boy’s hair was the same stunning shade of red and curled around his ears and at the back of his neck in the same manner that her curls tumbled down to her waist.

Once the men were out of sight, White Owl headed in the direction they had just come from. He had no doubt that he would come across the house before long. His predictions were correct again. After riding a short distance farther, he topped the crest of a small hill and glimpsed the fields of crops that had been planted for food. His mouth drew into a frown.

Anything to do with farming did not appeal to the Utes, which was one of the reasons they were fighting with the agent at the White River Indian Agency. He was trying to convince the tribe to learn how to plant crops. They preferred to race their ponies rather than spend time hoeing a field. What made the matter even worse was that Nathan Meeker thought the lush meadow where the Ute horse track was located would be a perfect place for planting the crops. White Owl pushed this unbearable thought from his mind and concentrated on the reason he was here.

Beyond the crops was a sprawling house, barn, and corrals. All the larger structures looked new, and a couple smaller outbuildings were in the process
of being erected. Wild Rose’s family was not poor, White Owl determined. Maybe she really was like the rich, hateful women he had met in Denver.

No, he had not gotten that impression, and White Owl felt that he was usually good at judging people. However, he had been certain that she would come back to the racetrack to see him yesterday, and he had been wrong about that.

Only a few minutes after he had stopped on top of the ridge, White Owl saw someone exit from the house. His heart felt as if it had just risen up to his throat. It was her . . . his Wild Rose. There was no doubt in his mind because his keen eyes could make out almost every detail. Her hair was in a tight bun at the back of her head, but the red hue shined like fire in the morning sky. She moved at a brisk pace, and the full skirt of her blue gingham dress swirled around her legs as she walked. There was something in her hand, but White Owl could not tell what it was.

Although he had no way of knowing whether there was anyone else in the barn with her, White Owl was not in the mood to wait any longer for another opportunity to see Rose. He spotted a good location in a thicket of aspens to hide his pony. He didn’t bother to tie the horse up, because Niwaa—meaning “friend” in Ute—was the most loyal mount he had ever possessed. He would trust his life to the sleek black stallion.

Making his way down the embankment, White Owl knew that he was not being wise. He was
visible most of the way, and a rifle could be aimed directly at him. Still, he continued his descent until he was at the wide entrance to the barn. He paused at the side of the doorway with his back against the rough-hewn logs. Cautiously, he leaned to the side and glanced into the dim barn. The sunlight that shone through the front entrance was the only light, and the sides and back of the building were too dark to make out anything.

But then White Owl heard her voice. She was talking to someone—or something. He unconsciously put his hand on the wood-handled knife that hung from a belt around his waist, then stepped slowly into the semidarkness of the barn. The strong smell of hay and horse manure assaulted his nose as he slipped into one of the empty stalls at the front of the barn.

“Hello? Is that you, Donavan?”

White Owl crouched down when he heard her call out. She had obviously heard him, too, but she thought he was someone named Donavan. White Owl gritted his teeth together and tightened his hold on the knife handle. Who was this Donavan? Could she have a husband? He had not thought of that possibility before now. The idea prompted a bolt of jealousy. It did not matter if she had a husband already. He would just steal her from him.

“Must be hearing things, Molly girl.”

She was talking to her horse, White Owl realized. He released his grip on the knife. She was good to her pony, and he thought that meant that she also had a good heart. As quietly as he could,
White Owl rose and began to move toward her voice. There were three stalls on each side of the barn, and she was in the third stall on the right-hand side. A lantern hanging from a nail inside the stall cast a small light around the interior.

Once White Owl had reached the stall where she was brushing her mare’s mane, he did not waste one second. He lunged into the stall, grabbed the girl from behind and immediately clamped his hand over her mouth. She did not even have time to scream. With his other hand, he yanked her up against his body; it was impossible for her to escape.

White Owl could almost feel the fear that radiated from her as her breaths were hitting the inside of his hand in short rapid gasps. Her body was rigid and unmoving, but he knew from their previous encounter that she was capable of putting up a valiant fight, so White Owl did not give her a chance.

Pressing his mouth close to her ear, he said in a low tone of voice, “Do not fight me and do not scream. I will not hurt you.”

She did not respond for a moment, then slowly she nodded.

“I will release you, but if you scream or run, you will only be putting your family in danger,” he added.

She nodded again, but White Owl did not release his tight hold on her just yet. With his face pressed against her head he was relishing the sweet smell of whatever it was that she used to wash her
hair. He was reminded of the intoxicating scent after a summer rainstorm in the deep forest. If only he had time to pull the hairpins out of that prim little bun.

“I will trust you not to scream,” White Owl said. “And you will trust me that I am not here to harm you or your family. If anyone is hurt, it will only be because you did something foolish.”

She nodded again, this time even more vigorously.

White Owl loosened his fingers from her mouth and exhaled a relieved breath when she didn’t start yelling for help immediately. She did nothing—she remained unmoving with her back still to him—even when he pulled his arm from around her waist. Finally, White Owl grasped her by the arm and turned her around so that they were facing each other. Her face was void of any color, and her wide, luminous blue eyes brimmed with tears.

“Listen to me when I say that I do not plan to hurt you or your family,” he repeated.

“Wh-what do you want?” she stammered in a voice that was barely more than a hoarse whisper.

“You.” He said the single word almost painfully.

Her eyes grew even wider, and if it was possible, her complexion paled more.

“M-me? Why?”

White Owl could barely hear her raspy voice. How could he explain something to her that he did not understand himself?

“You—you are . . . I don’t know. I can’t stop thinking about . . .” His voice trailed off. He
shrugged his shoulders as he struggled for the answer to her simple question. It was the first time in his twenty-four summers that he had been at a complete loss for words.

They were so close that they were almost touching, but not quite. If White Owl leaned forward no more than an inch, their bodies would make contact. He held his body taut and unmoving. He wished he could just reach out and wipe away those tears that were now falling from those lovely blue eyes and rolling down her cheeks.

“I . . . I,” White Owl drew in a deep breath. “There is something about you that touches me deep inside.” He put his fist up to his chest and sighed heavily. “Since that first day I spotted you watching the pony races, I could not get you out of my head, even before I saw your face. And now—” he paused, still trying to vocalize the strange feelings she had produced within him.

“Now?” she whispered.

White Owl studied the expression on her face. She was looking at him differently. The terror that had engulfed her a moment earlier was not as evident now, and to his surprise, she seemed curious to hear what he had to say.

“Now?” he repeated. “How does a man explain something that he has never known? But from the first moment I looked into your face, I knew.”

“You knew.” The breath she drew in trembled, making her lips quiver slightly.

White Owl’s gaze locked with hers. He could lean down and kiss her now . . .

“Rose,” a voice called out from the doorway of the barn. “Ma needs you.”

“Oh my!” the girl gasped. “Hide. You need to hide now!”

For a second, White Owl was confused by her sudden mood reversal, and he was unable to move. But when he realized that she was shoving him into the stall with her little fawn-colored mare, he obeyed. He grunted in aggravation, but the girl’s look of warning immediately silenced him. She motioned for him to squat down, and to his own amazement, he complied. The instant he had crouched down, however, he grabbed his knife from its fringed sheath and raised it up in an attack position.

“I’m coming, Donavan. Tell Ma I’m on my way.”

Donavan! White Owl rose slightly to get a look at his adversary. He instantly ducked back down. Inwardly, he had to laugh at himself. Donavan was definitely not her husband.

“You go tell Ma, I’ll finish brushin’ Molly,” he said.

“No! I mean, I’m already done brushing her. I’ll be in the house in a minute.”

White Owl could tell Wild Rose was fighting to control her panic, and he thought she was doing a good job. If she could get rid of the boy, he still planned to kiss those lips before he left here today.

“Well, then you can go see what Ma wants.”

An exasperated sigh emitted from her. “Okay,
I’m going, but would you go get Molly some fresh water? Here’s her bucket.”