LeClerc 03 - Wild Savage Heart (17 page)

Tempted to kiss the fingers against his mouth, Hawk reached up and captured her hand in his. With a sigh he held it next to his heart and leaned his head back against the wall. Aware that only the thin cotton of her nightdress and his own shirt separated her flesh from his, Hawk sighed deeply and fought to control his natural urge to caress her.

“Have I told you about Kaleb Smith?” he asked quietly.

Molly snuggled against his strong, hard chest and shook her head. “Is he another one who lives with Bear and Linsey?”

“You could say that Kaleb introduced them,” Hawk said with a smile. He adjusted her into a more comfortable position on his lap and found long strands of hair wrapped around his hand. Unconsciously, he stroked the clinging tendrils as he told his story.

“Kaleb spent many years searching for the men responsible for his wife’s death. When he found them he also found Linsey. They had kidnapped her and intended to sell her. To shorten a long story, he took her away from them, deposited her at Bear’s cabin and then went back for the two men.”

“Did he get them?” Molly asked.

“They’ll never bother another woman,” Hawk replied. He realized that he was playing with her hair and reluctantly unwound the strands from his hand.

“Is that all?”

Hawk chuckled at the childish disappointment so evident in her voice. “No, that’s not all,
o-wes-sah skwai-tha-thah.”

“What did you say?”

He lifted her from his lap and gently placed her on her bed. “Do you want to hear the rest of Kaleb’s story or not?” he asked, tapping the end of her nose.

“Of course, but I want to know what you said, too!”

“I said that you were a pretty little girl who is incorrigibly nosy.”

“Oh, is that all.” Disappointment was evident in her voice. “Can you say my name in Shawnee.”

“Sure.”

“Say it!”

“Molly,” Hawk replied, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Funny, very funny!” She pulled the quilt up to her chin, looking even more like a child to him. “Tell me your name.”

“Then can I get on with my story?”

“Yep.”

“Kwa-lah-wah-pah-kee m-shkol-ah-nee,
Morning Hawk,” he said, his deep, rich voice flowing around the fluid Shawnee words.

Hawk settled beside her, gently taking her hand in his. “Kaleb is the grandfather I never had. He settled down in a homestead near Bear and adopted their family. When we were little, the Cub and I followed him everywhere.”

“He never remarried?”

“No, Mary had been his whole life. I guess he just never found anyone else he wanted.

“Bear met Kaleb shortly after the Iroquois had … ah, removed his hair.”

“They scalped him?” Molly asked, horrified.

Hawk smiled at her response. “Fortunately for Kaleb, the Iroquois did a poor job of it. They sort of lost interest in Kaleb when Bear arrived on the scene. It was a small raiding party, though to hear Kaleb describe the incident it was the entire Iroquois nation.

“Bear managed to get Kaleb free and spent the winter nursing him back to health. They parted in the spring and didn’t see each other again until Kaleb left Linsey in Bear’s cabin. Kaleb always says that she was a thank-you present.”

No longer able to resist temptation, Hawk reached out and wound a long strand of hair around his hand. “Bear says she’s the best gift he ever received.”

Aware of his hand tangled in her hair, Molly remained very still. “And what does Linsey say?” she asked quietly.

Ebony eyes sparkled in the sparse moonlight. “She’s never said anything, but I think she must agree. She named her second son Kaleb.”

Long minutes passed in silence as Hawk stroked her hair. He let the silken strands waterfall through his fingers only to chase after them and capture them before they were truly free.

“Hawk, what am I going to do?” she asked softly, her voice reflecting her despondency.

He let the strands of hair fall one final time through his fingers and watched as they landed in a golden pool on her shoulder. His dark gaze found the sparkle of her golden one through the darkness. He didn’t pretend to misunderstand her question.

“You have to make the decision. I won’t tell you what to do with your life.”

“Do you realize that I’ve never made a decision in my life? First my father and then Adam decided what I’d do. Even the decision to elope was Adam’s. Now I’m being forced to make a decision and I don’t even know how to go about it. Do you have a lesson on how to make decisions?”

Hawk raised his hand and traced a gentle path down her soft cheek. Following the line of her jaw, his fingers caressed her stubborn chin and moved up to her other cheek. Her skin held the warmth of a summer day, the softness of a spring morning.

”Pel-ah-wee skawi-tha-thah,
Summer Woman, the answer will come.” He let his touch slip down her nose and whisper past her lips.

“Hawk . . Lost in the sparkling sensation of his touch, Molly was hard-pressed to create a coherent sentence.

“Sleep,
pel-ah-wee skawi-tha-thah,”
he murmured. “Search for your answer in your dreams.”

His hand once again firmly holding hers, Molly obediently closed her eyes. After the fears she had felt today she was almost afraid of the contents of her dreams.

In the silence of the night, the wordless chant reached out to enfold her in its beguiling magic. Swirling around on a whisper of breath, it teased, invited, enchanted, caressed. It offered an ethereal haven from earthly cares, a sanctuary from fear. In the sound was a pledge of security, a promise of safety.

Molly felt sleep enfold her in its tranquil arms. Her last thoughts were of Hawk, of the gentleness so thoroughly concealed from casual observers by his savage intensity.

Hawk was aware of the instant she fell asleep. He felt the gradual release of her grasp on his hand, the slow softening of her body. Maintaining the soothing chant long after she slept, he watched the rhythmic movement of her breathing. His gaze, both fierce and tender, roved hungrily over her slumbering features.

“Sleep, my Summer Woman,” he whispered. “You will find your answers, and when you are ready they will lead you to my waiting arms.”

As the rain pounded the thirsty earth, Molly watched, unconsciously rubbing her right shoulder. Bruised by the kick of the rifle, her shoulder ached continuously, a dull pain that was more irritating than painful. Since the incident two weeks earlier that had proved her lack of ability to protect herself, Hawk had spent a couple of hours each evening teaching her to use the rifle and a small-handled knife.

The knife proved easier to control than the rifle, though she knew she was far from a master with the weapon, even though it fit snugly in the palm of her hand. She began to fear that her accuracy with the rifle, which was nearly as long as she was tall, would ever improve enough for her to be able to put food on the table or even to provide minimal protection. Perhaps if she could convince her attacker to stand perfectly still at point-blank range she could manage to hit him, but she knew she’d miss if he took a deep breath.

With a sigh, she moved away from the door. She feared that the rain had come too late to save her garden. And any plants that had survived the drought were now threatened with drowning. This was the third straight day of rain, and rivers of mud flowed freely down to the creek.

“Restless?” Hawk asked. He sat on the floor near the fireplace that he had finished just days before the rains began. Even though warmth was not needed, a small fire burned to give them light, and heat for cooking their meals.

“I’m tired of the rain,” she complained quietly. “Three days is two days too many!”

“It’ll soon stop.” His agile fingers moved confidently over the piece of leather he was fashioning into a sheath for her knife.

“Yeah, probably a week after I start to rust!” She pushed her hair out of her face and walked back to the door.

Hawk’s eyes narrowed with thought as he watched her restless pacing. It was unlike Molly to be impatient or irritable, but for the last week her moods had swung as freely as a pendulum on a clock. He had watched with amazement as she laughed happily one minute only to turn teary-eyed the next. She had snapped at him for the slightest reason then tearfully apologized with the next breath.

“Want to tell me what’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing’s wrong!” she snapped, moving away from the door. “I’m just tired of the rain. I want to go for a walk. I want to work in my garden. I want to look at something other than these four walls!”

“Then go for a walk,” Hawk suggested.

“Are you out of your mind? In case you haven’t noticed,” she continued sarcastically, “it’s raining!”

“It’s warm, so you won’t catch cold and I doubt that you’ll melt. Haven’t you ever walked in the rain?”

“You have to be kidding. Why would anyone want to walk in the rain?”

“Ah,
o-wes-sah skwai-tha-thah,
you have missed some of the finer treats of life.”

“Don’t speak in Shawnee. Since I don’t know the language, it is extremely rude. And I’d hardly call getting drenched in a downpour one of the finer treats of life!”

“I called you ‘pretty girl,”’ he said as he laid his leather work aside and began to unlace his knee-high moccasins.

“I’m hardly pretty when I haven’t had a bath in three days,” she mumbled, oddly pleased by his compliment.

“Another reason to walk in the rain.” He placed his moccasins beside the unfinished sheath and rose to his feet. Like a stalking animal, he began to walk toward her. “Take your shoes off, Mrs. Royse.”

“Oh dear God, not the Mrs. Royse routine. I know every time you call me that that I’m not going to like what comes next.”

“You’ll like this, I promise.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Shoes, Mrs. Royse.” He stopped in front of her, looking down at the toes of her black shoes peeking from beneath her dress.

“I don’t want to walk in the rain, Hawk.”

“Yes, you do.” He knelt and began to unlace her shoes.

“No, I don’t!”

He ignored her, untying the laces and pulling her feet free. When he discovered the white cotton stockings covering her feet his gaze rose to hers.

“You remove them or I will.”

“Hawk …”

His hands moved beneath her skirt and Molly jerked away from his touch. “I’ll do it!”

She turned her back to him, missing his quick smile of amusement. When the stockings had been rolled down her legs and safely placed in her shoes, Hawk grabbed her hand. Before she could protest further, he pulled her outside and into the pouring rain.

Hawk turned his face to the sky and opened his mouth to catch the drops. “Taste it, Molly. There are few things sweeter than the taste of falling rain.”

Molly was too fascinated by the feel of the mud at her feet to raise her face to the rain. It felt different from the sandy dirt at the river bank. It was cold and slick and oozed between her toes as her feet sank deeper. She raised her skirt and wiggled her toes, enjoying the soft trickle of water.

When she didn’t respond, Hawk turned to her and noticed her raised skirt. She lifted dancing eyes to his and he was captivated by her innocent enjoyment.

“It tickles!” she giggled.

The rain was pulling her hair from its pins and Hawk smiled as he reached up and freed the remaining strands from their anchor. Her hand closed willingly in his as he walked away from the cabin. She snickered when his feet slid in the slippery mud and he tumbled to his knees in the red ooze.

Hawk turned to her, his fierce expression belied by his merrily dancing ebony eyes. “So you think it’s funny, do you?” he asked wickedly.

“Hawk, you wouldn’t,” she said, reading the intention in his gaze. “Would you?”

Molly backed slowly away as he rose from the ground. “Of course I would, Mrs. Royse.”

“No!” she shrieked as she turned to run. The slippery mud worked in conjunction with Hawk. She slid to the ground even as he reached for the skirt of her dress. She squealed as the cold mud met the warm flesh of her legs.

Hawk knelt over her, his white teeth sparkling in his dark face. “Lesson number one, Mrs. Royse,“he said with a chuckle, “never run in mud!”

“Lesson number two, Mr. Hawk,” she replied with an answering chuckle as she rolled over and forced a handful of slime down the open neck of his shirt. “Never delay in telling a lady lesson number one!”

She felt fully vindicated when he yelled as the cold muck slid down his smooth chest.

Mud covered her hair and dotted her face. The front of her dress, whose color was no longer discernible beneath its layer of mud, was plastered to her body. She seemed unaware that her skirt was bunched up past her knees, but Hawk had to force his gaze away from the inviting crevice delineated by the wet fabric.

She had never appeared more beautiful to him and he knew that she’d taste sweeter than any rain.