Magnificent Passage (13 page)

By morning the cub was definitely improved. He ate
scraps from a supper of antelope that Hawk shot before dark, and he was able to hobble around on his three good legs.

“He'll be all right now,” Hawk assured her. It was obvious he was pleased by her ministrations. “I have to tell you, Miss Ashton, you did a fine job on the little one. Where'd a city girl like you learn to doctor like that?”

“I . . . ah . . . ah . . . I used to have a governess who was a nurse,” Mandy stammered, the question throwing her. She lowered her eyes and looked away, refusing to hold his intense gaze, hating to lie to him on one of the few occasions he'd shown her kindness. Mandy felt him watching her. He sensed her change of mood, and the moment was lost. Giving her an uncertain glance, he withdrew to his usual wary distance.

“Well, we've wasted too much time already. Let's get mounted and back on the trail. We wouldn't want to keep the governor waiting, now, would we?” He was back to his familiar taunting self.

And Mandy was infuriated as usual. How could he be so caring one moment and such a devil the next? Well, she'd been cooperating far too much lately, anyway. She'd promised to slow them down, and slow them down she would. Sooner or later she'd find the opportunity.

Days on the plains came and went, as endless as the prairie they were crossing. The three had fallen into a quiet routine. Mandy and James were becoming quite amiable, their friendship deepening with each passing day. James always seemed to have a cheerful word. Mandy and Hawk rarely spoke. Sometimes she would catch him looking at her
when he thought she wouldn't notice, but he never allowed his gaze to linger. Mostly he treated her with indifference, always courteous, but with a hint of disdain, as if he knew something about her of which he disapproved.

One night after a meal of tough prairie chicken roasted over a sagebrush fire, Mandy strolled to the edge of camp to admire the night sky. On these limitless plains the stars were as plentiful as the clumps of sage and seemed to touch the very earth around them.

“Isn't it beautiful, James,” she commented, hearing his now-familiar footsteps coming up behind her. Though she'd lived on the frontier most of her life, she'd never really appreciated the beauty of the vast landscape. Out here, it was impossible not to. The immense emptiness magnified each star, turning it into a perfect white diamond, a jewel gleaming in an onyx setting.

“Yes, it is. Very beautiful. Almost as beautiful as you.”

“James, don't . . . ” she whispered. For some time now, she'd been afraid of becoming too close, afraid he might misunderstand their rapidly developing friendship.

“Don't worry, Julia. As lovely as you are, and as much as I might wish it weren't so, I see the way you look at Hawk.” His honest answer set those fears to rest and presented a new one.

“Don't be silly!” she countered, feeling the color rush to her cheeks. “Why, we hardly even speak. Besides, he obviously dislikes me.” For some reason, the thought depressed her.

“He doesn't dislike you, Julia,” James replied, trying to explain to her something even he didn't understand. He'd
never seen his friend act so strangely in all their years together.

“It's just that . . . well, Hawk was raised by the Cheyenne, and they have a strong sense of morals. He just thinks you're, well, spoiled, and maybe a bit of a tease. Considering you're supposed to be in love and engaged, he may have a point.”

“How dare he think such a thing!” Mandy sputtered. “Why, I've never teased that . . . that . . . He was the one who dragged me from the stream. I certainly didn't ask him to!”

Seeing the dismay on James's handsome face, Mandy realized too late that Hawk had never mentioned the episode at the creek. A small place in her heart thanked him, grudgingly, for his discretion.

“I mean, I can't imagine how he could think I was a tease. I never even talk to the man,” she finished lamely.

“Simmer down,” he soothed. “Hawk's no fool and neither am I. I just wish you looked at me that way.”

“Well you are both wrong!” Mandy stormed. “I'm in love with Jason, and I'm going to marry him. I wouldn't give Hawk the time of day!” She hoped she sounded more convincing to James than she did to herself.

“Take some advice from a friend?” James asked.

Mandy was too mad to answer.

“Make sure you don't fall in love with Hawk.”

“Men!” she stormed, wondering what the warning meant. “You're all alike!” Furiously, she turned and stomped back toward camp, throwing Hawk a sidelong glance, wanting to slap his conceited face. Oh, that man. Would she ever stop thinking about him?

“Whatever you say,” James called out as she walked away. He watched her retreating figure, stiff and determined, and smiled to himself. Maybe she didn't know how beautiful she was, didn't realize the effect she had on the men around her. That image certainly didn't match the one in the newspapers, but he really didn't care. He was sure she thought of him only as a friend, unfortunate as that might be. Considering his promise to the governor, it was probably for the best. He could see the constant battle Hawk waged with himself just to keep his hands off the girl.

James glanced back to the fire. She stood beside it, her gaze fixed in the flames. He realized he'd grown fond of her, no matter who she loved. He hoped, for her sake, it was this mysterious
Jason
. He pitied any woman who fell for Hawk. Hawk believed there was only one good place for a woman—and that was in bed!

But there was definitely something different about this particular woman, the governor's daughter. He sensed it, and so did Hawk. Aside from being one of the prettiest women James had ever seen, it was almost as if she were two different people. Most of the time she was willful, spoiled, and just generally a handful of trouble. But other times, like when she'd fought Hawk for the cub, she could show amazing concern and tenderness.

A half day's ride put them just shy of Fort Bridger. Mandy knew the fort had been settled originally by a mountain man named Jim Bridger and at one time was home to Kit Carson, the famous scout and explorer. It had been a landmark on the trail for decades. Over the years the fort had
fallen into disrepair, but with the Indian troubles of the last few years the Army had decided to revitalize it.

Mandy had never traveled this far west and was looking forward to visiting a place she'd heard about since her childhood. Hawk swiftly put an end to that idea. Instead they stopped some distance from the fort and James was sent in with the pack mule for the necessary supplies.

“Why can't we all go to the fort?” Mandy asked wistfully as she watched James ride away. She longed for a bath in a real tub and a night in a real bed.

“You know very well
why
, little one,” Hawk told her flatly. “Because neither James nor I wish to fight the entire U.S. Cavalry just to make your father happy.”

He'd begun to use the nickname “little one” after her adventure with the cub. Mandy liked the sound of it spoken with just a hint of a Cheyenne accent.

“Couldn't we go if I gave you my word of honor not to speak to anyone about our trip?” They rested on a wide log. There was wood to gather, bedding to unroll, and a meal to start, but the short break felt good.

“You couldn't go if you swore on a stack of Bibles and your mother's grave,” Hawk finished, ending the discussion.

A twinge of sorrow at the mention of her mother creased her brow. It did not go unnoticed by the big man.

“I'm sorry,” he apologized, looking as if he felt a little ashamed. “What was she like?”

“She was a wonderful woman. We used to do everything together. She taught me to cook,” she teased.

“Then she did a good job.”

“She also taught me to sew and how to raise a garden, how to play the pianoforte—dozens of things. My father
and I loved her more than anything.” She twisted a strand of her hair, afraid to say more, but she thought wistfully of how happy her family used to be. The house had been warm and cozy, not barren and empty as it was now. After her mother died, her father had stripped the house of anything that reminded him of his wife.

When her mother was alive, there were fancy lace doilies, colorful hooked rugs, warm chintz curtains. Her mother had been proud of her home, as simple as it was. Born wealthy, she'd grown up with all the luxuries money could buy, but her love for a young Army officer had been more important.

The family moved to the frontier when Mandy was nine, but her mother still insisted she learn all the social niceties she firmly believed necessary to a young woman's education. As Mandy played the role of the governor's daughter, she was grateful for all the dismal hours she'd spent at the task.

“She was very beautiful,” she whispered, her mind picturing her mother smiling up at her.

Hawk's gaze lingered on her face. “Looking at you,” he said, “that's easy to believe.”

Mandy felt a rush of heat to her cheeks. She glanced down shyly, reveling in the compliment.

Hawk watched her a minute more, then cleared his throat and turned away. “We'd better get to work.”

She nodded and started scanning the ground for a place to make a pallet for her bedroll.

Later that night, after a supper of roasted rabbit and the last of the pan biscuits, they sat on a flat rock in front of the fire. James wouldn't be back until morning, and Hawk appeared
to be in good spirits, having just come from a dip in the Black River. His hair was still damp and curling softly, and his snug-fitting breeches, a little moist in places, clung to his powerful thighs.

As much as possible Mandy kept her gaze from straying, but his nearness caused her heart to thud. She could feel his gaze caressing the line of her cheek. Recalling his tender attitude earlier in the day bolstered her courage.

“Beautiful country, isn't it?” she began.

“Yes it is.”

“You know it well.” It was a statement, not a question.

“I was raised northeast of here. That's where my tribe lives.” He glanced off in the distance, his mind somewhere in the past.

She took it as a good sign. Maybe he would share a little of himself with her. She would risk it.

“You still say ‘your tribe.' Aren't the whites ‘your tribe,' too?”

He looked down at her thoughtfully. “Yes, I guess they are. Sometimes, when I think of how they treat the Indians, I wish I didn't have to claim them. But most of the time, I'm just as proud of my white heritage as I am my Indian.”

It was the most he'd ever revealed of himself, and it gave her the courage to go on.

“What are you really like, Mr. Travis Langley? But you prefer Hawk, don't you?” He didn't answer, but just stared into the flames. “Are you really the ogre you make yourself out to be, or the soft heart I sometimes suspect?” She thought of the cub, and the times he'd been gentle when she'd least expected it.

A small smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “Probably a
little of both, like most folks. I think most of us have more than one side to our nature.” The firelight flickered seductively and cast a warm bronze glow to his skin.

“And you, Miss Ashton? Or shall I call you Julia?”

“Please, call me . . . Julia,” she answered, and then suddenly wished she could hear him call her Samantha. She could imagine how soft it would sound coming out with a deep throatiness, masculine and sensual.

“And you, Julia,” he corrected. “Are you really the reckless spitfire you would have me think, or the sensitive young lady I saw tending the cub?”

She smiled, intent on answering truthfully. “A little of both, I suspect.” She reflected on her behavior at the stream, but quickly sent her thoughts in another direction.