Susan Johnson Read online

  Blaze smiled back at him. “Is this like a honeymoon, then?”

  He carefully set down the cup. “Would you like it to be a honeymoon?” His voice was low, modulated with inquiry.

  She nodded, never sure of his baffling moods, only sure of her own feelings.

  “A honeymoon it is, then.” The expression in his eyes was unreadable but his smile was enchanting. “Let me feed you,” he murmured, picking up a piece of roasted meat in his slender fingers and carefully placing it in her mouth. “And let me comb your hair for you,” he whispered lightly. “And take care of you.”

  “If you do everything, what am I supposed to do?” Blaze very softly asked.

  “You can take care of me, Boston, in your very special way.” His lean hand caressed the line of her jaw.

  “Is that all? Don’t I have to work?” She stopped his hand with hers and nibbled on his fingertips.

  “I’d rather,” he murmured, her licking tongue on his fingertips sending heated messages to his brain, “you devote your energy to me in other ways.”

  “How nice,” Blaze softly replied, then, taking his hand in hers, slid it downward and placed it over her breast, “since I’m very good at that.”

  “Yes, you are,” Hazard agreed, his glance beginning to heat. “Very good, indeed. But eat first, princess, because I intend to take advantage of your natural proficiencies for the rest of the day and you’re going to need sustenance.”

  The afternoon drifted by in a sequence of pleasure which enhanced all their affinities, never once invaded by the demons of discord. She was insatiable, and he’d never enjoyed himself so much.

  It was late afternoon when Hazard said, “Clothes,” in a startled abrupt murmur, followed by a soft expletive. With a brushing kiss across Blaze’s hair, he set her aside and rolled off the bed of buffalo robes. Walking over to the lodge door, he lifted the flap a fraction and spoke briefly in Absarokee.

  “Who’s there?” Blaze quietly asked, sitting up.

  Looking over his shoulder, he said, “I forgot,” then turned back to the slight opening and went on in a soft flurry of Absarokee. He was answered by several women’s voices and many giggles.

  “Your harem?” Blaze inquired in oversweet accents when he dropped the flap ear and came back to her.

  “With you, love, I don’t have time for a harem,” he smilingly replied.

  “Or the inclination?” Blaze retorted, warmed by the smile but still green-eyed and needing assurance.

  “Absolutely,” Hazard quickly agreed. “Or the inclination. Those ladies outside aren’t for me; they’ve brought your wardrobe and I forgot. I think they’ve been waiting quite a while, so I apologized like mad. You’d better try the clothes on now.”

  “Whose clothes are these?” Blaze uncertainly asked, wondering how a new wardrobe could be assembled so rapidly.

  “They’re all new. The women make dresses, shirts, moccasins, robes, whatever, for trading. I mentioned yesterday I wanted to buy clothes for you this afternoon. Unfortunately, it slipped my mind until a minute ago.” Reaching for his leggings, Hazard said, “I’ll invite them in.”

  “No!”

  He was stepping into one pant leg and at Blaze’s exclamation looked up. “No? I thought you wanted your own dresses.”

  “I do. Tell them to leave everything and I’ll try them on later.”

  “Sweetheart, the dresses are going to need fitting,” he replied, pulling up the leggings and lacing the belt through the loops.

  “I’ll do it.”

  He finished tying the belt before he quietly asked, “You sew?”

  “Well … when I was young …” Blaze began to stammer. “I mean … I think I—”

  He looked down at her and perceptively observed, “You don’t sew.”

  Blaze sighed and bit her bottom lip. “No,” she admitted.

  “We probably should have someone who can sew,” he pleasantly remarked, “fit them then, don’t you think?”

  Blaze stared at him for a long moment before she grudgingly agreed, “I suppose. But someone I don’t know,” she warned, recalling Little Moon’s earlier visit.

  “You don’t know anyone sweetheart.”

  “Someone you don’t know.”

  “I know everyone.”

  “That isn’t what I mean,” she said darkly.

  “Fine,” he said understanding at last.

  “Someone old,” Blaze added.

  He laughed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  When he stepped outside, Hazard explained his wife was shy and then proceeded to buy all the dresses in order not to offend anyone. Afterward, he politely sent the ladies away, save one old woman.

  Blaze had slipped on one of Hazard’s buckskin shirts and was standing near the bed when they entered the lodge. She reminded him of a youngster in an oversized shirt, her feet bare, but she stood regally. Only her eyes reflected her uncertainty. He introduced Willow, explaining to Blaze that Willow was known across the northern plains for her exquisite quill designs. Then he carried in a large stack of fringed and decorated dresses while the women tentatively smiled at each other. “Start with these.”

  “Do you think you have enough here?” Blaze asked teasingly, her hands lightly brushing over the multitude of luxurious leathers he held out to her.

  “Would you like more, Boston?” he inquired, answering amusement in his glance. “I’ll send out the crier.”

  “You’re too extravagant.”

  “I have an extravagant woman to please,” he said very low.

  “You want to please me?” she happily purred.

  “In infinite ways, bia-cara,” Hazard murmured, “after you try on the dresses.”

  “Try them on in front of Willow?” Blaze hesitantly returned.

  “Do you dress yourself at home?”

  “Sometimes,” she hedged.

  “Pretend this isn’t sometimes,” Hazard coaxed, well aware Blaze had a lady’s maid or two in her background. “Humor me.”

  Blaze faintly grimaced. “If you insist.”

  He smiled. “I do.”

  Willow, standing to one side, had taken in the scene and understood despite the English, that Dit-chilajash was pressing and his woman resisting. Willow’s eyes twinkled knowingly when Hazard smiled at his last firm word, and she stepped forward to help. “The star design is made for a chief’s woman,” she said to him, “and the beaded one from Fawn. Tell your woman to try those on first.”

  Hazard translated for Blaze, placed the dresses on the bed, and pulled out Willow’s special dress decorated front and back with an intricate spiked star of multicolored quills. “The star design brings luck to its wearer,” he added, holding it out. “Come, bia, put it on.”

  Blaze hung back. “You’re embarrassing me.”

  “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Willow’s seen a nude body or so in her day, and I”—he paused and smiled—“prefer you nude. I did what you asked; all the other women were sent away. Now you keep your part of the bargain.”

  Blaze gave in gracefully and after putting on the first dress, which Willow adjusted at the shoulder, waist, and hip, felt less uncomfortable.

  “Your wife is very beautiful,” Willow said, marking a shoulder seam with a chalky bit of limestone.

  “Thank you,” Hazard replied, repeating the compliment to Blaze in English.

  Blaze had received such compliments all her life, but somehow it meant a great deal more coming from this old woman who was a member of Hazard’s clan. She so wanted to be a part of Hazard’s life. “How do you say thank you in Absarokee?” Blaze asked, and when Hazard told her, she carefully repeated the phrase. “Aho-aho,” Blaze slowly repeated, with a large smile and a small curtsy.

  Willow curtsied back and they both laughed. She’s like Hannah, Blaze thought. She’s just like Hannah. Joy warmed her heart.

  Leaning comfortably against his willow backrest, Hazard enjoyed the fitting session. He’d never had the opportunit
y before to look at Blaze for this length of time. Something or someone would usually intervene: work, conversation; more often than not, in the quiet of their evenings, it was his lust. Alone, he’d never have simply looked this long. So he quietly relished the beauty and perfection of Blaze’s face and form. Her skin was peach-gold beneath the translucent lodge walls, her hair a drifting sheen of copper. She moved gracefully at Willow’s elementary commands, lifting her arms to pull off a dress, ducking her head into a held garment, shimmying her hips gently to let the soft leather slide down her body. She was timid, tentative, beneath Willow’s ministrations, a revelation to Hazard, who had seen determination and commanding presence more. She was different here at the summer camp, less decretory, more—dare he used the word?—obedient. And then he smiled at the absurd notion and, lifting his heavy lashes, caught her glance over Willow’s grey head.

  He winked.

  She smiled.

  And a delicious sweetness passed between them.

  Several dresses later, they argued briefly over a neckline cut too low for Hazard’s taste. Fascinated, Willow watched the dispute, only understanding an occasional word but clearly aware of the issue.

  “That one won’t do,” Hazard had said, motioning for Willow to remove it.

  “Wait a minute.” Blaze gestured Willow away. “I like this dress. The beading is almost liquid, it’s so dense. And I like the colors.” It was lush cream leather, supple as velvet, blue and green beading in wave patterns radiating outward from the deeply cut neckline.

  “No.”

  “I happen to want it.”

  “No.”

  “Don’t take that tone with me.”

  Hazard controlled himself, retrenched, altered the autocratic command. “Sorry, bia, keep it if you wish.” But when he spoke to Willow after the dress was fitted, he added in a quiet Absarokee aside, “Don’t bring that one back.”

  Willow nodded. Dit-chilajash had won. But she gave the woman her due. The yellow eyes woman stood up to Dit-chilajash as bravely as a man. He wouldn’t always win, she knew. Not with this flame-haired woman. Willow had known Hazard’s first wife from babyhood, had made her wedding dress; she’d watched the young couple grow up together, helped nurse Raven Wing as she lay dying. This relationship she’d seen today was different, as if the Black Cougar had met his equal, not just his mate. She wondered what the infant would be like born of two such parents. The yellow eyes was pregnant; it was plain if you knew what to look for. Did Is-bia shibidam Ditchilajash (Hazard the Black Cougar) know?

  LATER that evening, after slipping down to the river to bathe, Hazard and Blaze lay under the willows and listened to the young men serenading their sweethearts with their flutes. The delicate music floated through the warm summer night, melody overlaying melody, notes intertwined, romance personified in the pure night air.

  “Are you happy?” Blaze asked very late that night when even the love songs had finally quieted and only the wind in the trees broke the stillness.

  “Is this a test?” She couldn’t see him in the darkness of the lodge, but she could hear him smile. He only yelped quietly when she pinched him, and then conceded into the blackness, “Yes, I am. And what of you bia-cara?” he questioned in turn. “Do you like our summer camp?” By force of habit, he found himself avoiding soul-searching inquiries.

  “I like everything. It’s perfect. You’re perfect.” On his best behavior, joy and contentment a natural inspiration. Hazard had enchanted his new “wife” through the lazy, languid day. A day set aside for them alone, a day in which the world was kept at bay.

  He laughed softly at her immoderate response. “And if this perfection had to let the world in tomorrow, what then, puss? Would you still like it?”

  “Of course. As long as you’re with me,” she answered with the open, limitless emotion he found both bewitching and disconcerting.

  “Does that mean you’ll go on the buffalo hunt tomorrow?”

  “Will other women go?”

  “Some will.”

  “Isn’t that lucky. Now I can say I’d love to. I would have gone anyway, but now it sounds polite rather than disagreeably pushy.”

  “It sounds as though I’m going to have a shadow.” He was holding her in his arms and thinking how different his life had become since he’d met her.

  “That’s the general idea,” Blaze cheerfully replied, then abruptly asked, “Am I allowed to kiss you in public?”

  “Would it do any good if I said no?”

  “No.”

  He groaned theatrically. “I foresee my consequence in tatters.”

  “Just as well. Consequence,” she pronounced mischievously, “is much overrated.”

  “Might I recommend discretion, at least?” he asked with amusement.

  “You can recommend all you want,” Blaze sweetly replied.

  “An Absarokee chief has a chief of his own, it seems,” he said with a chuckle.

  “You might say that,” Blaze agreed, her smile part mischief, wholly female.

  He ran his palms leisurely down her back and pulled her closer. In matters of love she could rule him with his blessing. And he told her so.

  “I wasn’t envisioning so circumspect a role.”

  “I thought perhaps you weren’t,” he responded, all courtesy and tact. “Maybe we should get back to the discussion of the buffalo hunt.”

  Blaze giggled. “Coward.”

  “Diplomat,” he disagreed, warmth curling through his voice. “I’d never dream of ruining this delicious rapport.…” And he changed the subject in a way he’d perfected years ago.

  Chapter 25

  Suitable clothes were found for Blaze in the morning, and she, along with other sweethearts and special wives—all vividly dressed—rode their lovers’ prized buffalo ponies out to the site of the hunt. The men never rode the buffalo ponies until the actual hunt in order to keep them fresh; the women, light on their backs, wouldn’t tire the strong mounts.

  They rode along Arrow Creek in the shadow of the cottonwoods. It was cool in the shade of the towering trees, the sun only beginning its journey across the sky. The herd was grazing just south of The-cliff-that-has-no-pass, a fast hour’s ride. It would take them twice that long at this leisurely pace. Rising Wolf and his current sweetheart rode just ahead of Blaze and Hazard in a line of riders stretched out a mile or more.

  While the hunters and their companions slowly followed the meandering creek, the young braves, stripped down and on display, raced alongside the procession, showing off their riding skills for their sweethearts and lovers. It was the most dramatic equestrian prowess Blaze had ever seen. In a split-second movement, they nimbly sprang off, then back on, their ponies while at an all-out gallop; agile as acrobats, they lightly balanced standing atop their speeding mounts, hung effortlessly beneath the bellies of their racing ponies, a hairbreadth from the flying hooves.

  One lithe, muscled warrior turned a cartwheel on his horse’s back, slid gracefully astride once again, and a scant five feet from a collision from Peta, careened his thundering pony aside.

  “Be-se-che-waak, Dit-chilajash” (I like her, Hazard), he tossed over his shoulder as he galloped away.

  Rising Wolf’s girlfriend giggled. Blaze was still awestruck at the daring display.

  Twisting half around, one hand resting on his horse’s rump, Rising Wolf said in Absarokee, his smile wry, “Spirit Eagle’s in his usual form, I see.”

  “Someone’s going to have to teach him a lesson someday,” Hazard replied in his own language, his tone carefully modulated.

  Someday may be here sooner than you think,” Rising Wolf replied, a grin supplanting the faint smile. Dainty Shield giggled again and whispered something to Rising Wolf. He turned back to Hazard. “Little Moon says—”

  “I already heard,” Hazard said.

  “A new position for you,” Rising Wolf said, chuckling. “How does it feel?”

  “What is all this about?” Blaze interjected into the
Absarokee passing back and forth, saving Hazard from having to probe his feelings on this new experience. He had always wooed women as Spirit Eagle had done today, openly in the way of their clan. Now his woman was the pursued for the first time and he was on the defensive.

  “Boys’ games. They like to show off,” Hazard casually replied, but his territorial defenses were warned.

  “Like you used to do?” Rising Wolf teased, the Absarokee a gentle drawl.

  “You talk too much,” Hazard growled, but he was smiling, so Blaze knew he didn’t mean whatever he’d said.

  Further along the way Hazard issued a list of instructions for Blaze’s safety. “Once the herd starts moving, there’s no stopping it. It may look magnificent and dramatic when you haven’t seen one before, but anything remotely in its path is dead. Stay well back of the other women. Peta will mind you. Don’t be foolish and don’t take any risks.”

  “Do I look like someone who’d ride into a herd of buffalo?” Blaze asked somewhat indignantly, having patiently listened to Hazard’s monologue of directions for the better part of five miles.

  Hazard, riding beside her, turned his head and gave her a look of cordial assessment. “In my experience, princess,” he said amiably, “you seem to do anything you set your mind to.”

  “That may be,” Blaze as amiably conceded, “but I’m not inclined to race a herd of buffalo.”

  “I’m relieved to hear it.”