“I have heard the same thing of him.”
Sun Hawk’s handsome face hardened into a scowl. “Was Gray Fox the one who said my people must move?”
Skylar thought it over and realized that it was unlikely. “I do not believe so. Newsome said it was the Indian Bureau’s order, and Gray Fox has no con-118
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trol over them. He must live with their decisions just as we must.” She was pleased to see that his face softened. Clearly he did not want to think ill of General Crook, and she could understand why. In a desperate situation it was a great relief to have at least one person who could be trusted.
“I was told you spoke of peace at the council tonight,” she commented, hoping to learn more about his attitudes. She had guessed Sun Hawk to be about thirty years of age, and she was learning that it was unusual to find so much wisdom in one so young. “That was a good thing,” she told him.
Sun Hawk looked into the fire. Her praise warmed him, but he was not altogether certain she was right. “Will you say that if our people perish at Rio Alto?” he asked quietly.
She caught a glimpse of his pain and confusion, and was moved by it. “Do you have doubts about the things you said at the council?” she inquired, her voice soft with sympathy.
It was a moment before he answered. “My friends called me a coward and said I was like an old woman.” He looked at her with a touch of defiance. “I am not.”
“I know that,” she assured him with a gentle smile. “You are wise to counsel peace. There are too many white men and too few Apaches. If you fight, eventually all the Apache will die.”
He looked at the fire again. “Some say that dying is better.”
“They are wrong.”
“My cousin, Dull Knife, believes that if we stand against the soldiers we can drive all the whites out of our land.”
“Dull knife is foolish,” Skylar said firmly. “I have been to many places far away from here and seen the villages of the white man that stretch farther than the eye can see.” She reached down and scooped up a handful of dirt.
“Their numbers are many times greater than all the grains of sand on this reservation. For every soldier killed, two more will come to replace him, and four will replace those if they die. The Apache cannot win; they can only survive and learn to live as best they can.”
Sun Hawk studied her face as he listened to her words. The images she created were frightening, but he did not doubt her, because the things she said matched his own beliefs. What was surprising was the way she spoke. It was good to find a woman who did not think of him as less than a man because he did not want to fight a battle that could not be won.
“You have much wisdom and knowledge for a woman so young,” he told her.
Skylar smiled. “I had thought the same of you.”
“I am not young,” he replied, and then a teasing light came into his dark eyes. “I only look young to you because everyone in your Apache family is old.”
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She laughed lightly, and Sun Hawk felt a stirring of desire so strong that it nearly took his breath away. His good humor vanished. “Where is your man?”
Skylar was astonished by the sternness in his voice. “My man?” she asked, frowning.
“You should have a husband and many children already.”
Skylar felt as though she was being scolded, and it irritated her. “I have no husband or children.”
“Why not?”
“Because I am an Apache, and no white man has wanted me as a wife.”
That made sense. “And no Apache would want you because you have lived among the whites too long to know the things a good wife must know,” he added crossly, following the thought to its natural conclusion.
He was right, of course, but Skylar was stung by his blatant rejection of her as a woman no man could possibly want. She knew it in her heart, but hearing someone say it—particularly this man—made her feel like the lowest creature that had ever walked on earth. Fighting back tears, she looked into the fire again. “As I said before, you are wise.”
Sun Hawk saw the pain he had caused her and regretted it deeply. “It is not your fault,” he said, softening his voice.
Skylar couldn’t look at him. “Maybe you think it would have been better if the Chiricahua who slaughtered my people had killed me as well.”
“Do you think that?” he asked quietly.
Skylar whirled to face him. “No! I have never thought that! Because I lived, I have known the love of very good people. I have laughed with joy, and when I cried there was always someone to comfort me. I have seen beautiful sunrises and thrilled to the sight of a coming storm. My life has been good, and if I must pay for that by living with the sorrow of never having a husband or children, it is a small price to pay for the gift of being alive.”
Sun Hawk sat back, startled by her ferocity—and by the way her flash of fire made him feel. But the needs she aroused in him were unwelcome ones.
They were not a betrayal of his wife, for he knew he had passed through his time of mourning, but they were wrong feelings nonetheless.
“Then may you live a long life,” he said tersely as he rose. Without giving her a chance to respond, he turned and became one with the darkness.
Meade threw the letter onto the table and moved across the room to pour himself another drink. Damn it to hell, why was Rayna Templeton writing to him? He had enough trouble not thinking about her without her harassing him with these constant reminders.
Of course two letters in six weeks didn’t exactly constitute harassment, he reminded himself bitterly. Rayna was just being polite, keeping him abreast of 120
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her father’s continuing progress and her lack of the same in obtaining Skylar’s release. Except for her polite expressions of gratitude, there had been nothing terribly personal in either of the letters. She certainly hadn’t mentioned the kiss they’d shared.
Unfortunately that hadn’t stopped Meade from thinking about it.
He took a long swig of whiskey, but he already knew from experience that it wasn’t going to do any good. Eight years at Fort Apache hadn’t turned him into an alcoholic, but the memory of that accursed woman just might. Why the devil couldn’t he forget about her?
Simple, he told himself. It was because she was a damsel in distress and he was a gentleman who’d been conditioned to lend aid in a crisis. Nothing more. The problem of Skylar Templeton was still unresolved, and until it was, it would weigh on Meade’s mind. It was a natural, logical conclusion.
Except that Skylar Templeton wasn’t the one who’d caused him more sleepless nights than he could count, and thinking of her sister, Rayna, as a damsel in distress was nothing short of laughable. She was trapped in a mire of frustrating bureaucracy, but she was far from helpless. She was beautiful, yes. And she was fiery, spirited, unladylike, and damned infuriating at times, but helpless? Hardly.
Blast it all, he didn’t even like the woman! he tried to tell himself, but of course it was a lie. He admired her spirit and her courage. He respected her loyalty and her deep commitment to her family. He even respected her ability to stand up for herself, and what was worse, he actually missed sparring with her. Too often he found himself smiling for no reason as he thought of something she’d said or of an impudent look she’d given him.
What he thought about at night, though, was the passionate kiss they’d shared. The memory made him ache with the most ferocious need he’d ever experienced. There were places he could go to assuage that need, of course, but Meade couldn’t bring himself to seek the services of a whore. As a physician, he knew the hazards only too well, but if it would have obliterated his obsession with Rayna Templeton, he might have been willing to take the risk.