Capture the Sun (Cheyenne Series) Read online

  What did he want? To be Cheyenne? To be white? An honored warchief or a respectable rancher? He scoffed at the probability of the latter. Beautiful green-eyed Carrie would see to it that he never inherited Circle S. He considered. No, in all honesty, Noah would cut him out of the will whether or not Carrie gave him white heirs.

  * * * *

  It was hot, the sun seeming to stand still in the brilliant azure sky at midday. Carrie shrugged and pulled the sticky yellow cotton blouse away from her breasts where it clung, wet and itchy. “How I'd love a nice, cool bath in that pool,” she thought aloud.

  After having another argument with Noah, she had ridden all morning. In spite of his rough, loathsome nightly attentions, she still did not quicken. He had questioned her in humiliating detail about her monthly courses, which had begun again last week. Even if she hated him—and she was beginning to—it might be better to conceive a child of his. If she were breeding, at least he would leave her bed and give her peace. He would go back to his whore in Miles City. Noah had already made it clear that he found his wife's lack of response most unsatisfactory and told her she was a child in a woman's body.

  Carrie shivered in revulsion, thinking of his wrinkled, flabby flesh and those clawlike, cruel hands roaming over her. Suddenly she was cold in the noonday heat. What might it be like if a young, lithe male caressed her instead of her old husband? What made me think that? Even though it was only a private thought, Carrie fairly twitched in outraged embarrassment. Of course, it was a thought that frequently haunted her in past weeks. If only I'd been able to choose my husband, a man my own age...

  Dejectedly she let Taffy Girl pick her way toward the edge of the water. It was a small lake, one of several on Circle S land, clean and sweet, wonderfully inviting in the heat of an August day. The surroundings were quiet and beckoning. No one would disturb her. Well, why not?

  She answered her question by quickly slipping off her horse and vanishing into the thick willows by the pool's edge to shed her clothes. Young ladies in the cities of the east were never allowed to swim, but Carrie had learned when she was a child, still living with her parents. Her mother's cousin had a farm in St. Charles, a small town on the Missouri River. Carrie, a mere six or seven to her second cousin Hildy's ten, would slip off to a small pond behind the apple orchard. There Hildy taught her the unladylike art of doggy paddling, diving and playing like a young otter in the warm Missouri water.

  The clear spring-fed Montana lake prompted memories of carefree childhood. Why, oh why, did Mama and Papa have to die? Life was such fun back then. Sighing, Carrie lay back and floated in silent reverie.

  Suddenly her peaceful haven was disturbed when a horse whickered. It wasn't Taffy Girl who was tied on the opposite side of the alder trees. At once Carrie was alert, silently treading water over to a partially sunken log lodged against a small finger of land that jutted out in the middle of the pool. Behind the leafy cover the log afforded, she could watch undetected and see who had intruded on her private domain.

  The minute she sighted the big red horse tied by the bank, she knew who it was. Then she saw him next to Redskin, in the process of stripping methodically. His gunbelt and knife already lay gleaming evilly on the lake bank. In wide-eyed wonder she watched as he slipped a buckskin shirt over his shoulders, baring the broad expanse of his chest. Dark coppery skin rippled with lean muscles as he bent over and pulled off one, then the other moccasin. When he straightened up and began to unfasten his breeches, Carrie knew she must look away.

  But she did not. Never in all her young life had she watched a man undress. When Noah came into her room he did so under cover of darkness, shedding his robe by her bedside. Strange, she had never possessed the slightest curiosity about male anatomy—until now. Certainly she had never before seen such a specimen—in or out of his clothes!

  Hawk stood still, stark naked in the warmth of the noon sun, then stretched like some barbarous bronzed god, worshiping and being worshiped by the sensual beauty of the hot day. He was long-legged and muscular in a lean, hard fashion, with black curly hair on his chest, forearms, and legs. Quickly she let her eyes skip over the core of his maleness and looked at his face; his eyes were closed as he raised his chiseled features and let the sun caress them. His shoulder-length hair gleamed with raven’s wing luster as he shook it and then began to stride deliberately into the inviting water.

  In fascination, she watched his body gradually submerge until he began to swim in bold, strong strokes across the water toward the opposite bank. Then suddenly he vanished beneath the water while in the middle of the pool. Surely he was not drowning, she thought in panic! What should she do?

  Carrie treaded water, holding onto the scratchy log, frantically considering what had happened. Just as suddenly as he had vanished, he surfaced—directly beside her!

  “Oooh!” Releasing the log, she dropped deeper into the water, hiding the tips of coral nipples from his view.

  Laughing as he slapped a mass of midnight hair from his face, Hawk said, “Careful, you might suck in half the lake and lower the water level. Then I'd see what you're trying so hard to hide.”

  Spluttering more, she backed against the log and crouched even lower. He looked at her as if his eyes could penetrate the blue-green depths. “I recognized your horse, but couldn't believe a nice city girl like you would be skinny-dipping in a pond, much less spying on a man. while he undressed, Carrie. Shame, shame.”

  She felt the heat of the flush stain her neck and face despite the cool kiss of water lapping over her shoulders. “You had no right! If you saw Taffy you should never have come in here, Hawk Sinclair. No gentleman would ever invade a lady's privacy like this!”

  “I'm no gentleman, remember. Besides, no lady would be naked in the first place. You are naked, aren't you, little Firehair?”

  With that, he made a lightning move across the water separating them and clasped her around her waist. With a shriek, she fell thrashing into his arms, her body pressed intimately to the length of his.

  “Yep, mother naked,” he breathed as he ran trespassing hands down her back and over the curve of wet silky buttocks: Then he raised one hand beneath the blanket of water and cupped a full round breast whose nipple had inexplicably puckered into a hard point.

  Carrie could feel the scratch of his hairy torso against her belly—also that male part of him, hard and probing between her legs. Her breasts tingled and her whole body quivered. Was it fear or anticipation? It was not the cold revulsion she felt when Noah touched her. Her thrashing protests stopped and she looked into his eyes. Her own green ones were puzzled and expectant. Why don't I scream?

  An eternity seemed to pass in the shady pool as he held her with one long arm and silently explored her body. Hawk felt his breathing accelerate and his temperature rise. His hand was soft, slicked with water, his fingers cunning and deft as he traced the rounded curve of her breast where it joined to her ribs, then moved downward over the slim swell of a hipbone, then back to cup the soft cheek of her derriere. All the while he held her pressed closely to him with an inflexible arm, aware of the pounding of her heart and trembling of her body.

  Carrie's hands were flattened on his chest, pressing against him but not pushing him away. Her palms were incredibly sensitive as she felt the flexing of his muscles beneath the heavy mat of his chest hair. The instinctive desire to rub little circles across his hard body was irresistible. She desperately wanted to feed the hunger of her own questing hands and almost gave in to it. But then he broke the spell.

  “How old are you? Eighteen? Maybe nineteen? Have you ever been with a young man? Have you ever had a real lover, Carrie?” He sensed her increasing arousal that matched his own, and despised them both for their carnal weakness. “Too bad you got more than you bargained for with Noah. He may not be good, but I bet he is thorough.”

  All the breath seemed to leave her body at his cruel taunt, unexpectedly reminding her that she was a married woman, most unhappily so. Furi
ously she pushed at him in earnest now, and he let her go. She stumbled backward, cringing against the log. “Get away from me! I want to get out of the water!”

  “I won't stop you,” he said in smirking amusement.

  “Turn around and swim across to the other side so you can't watch me,” she ordered through clenched teeth. Now the chill of the shadowy water was taking its toll. Deprived of his body heat and frozen in shame, she shook with cold.

  Shrugging in acquiescence, as if supremely indifferent, he rolled over and began to swim leisurely toward the center of the lake. Quickly Carrie climbed out of the water and grabbed for her clothes on the open bank. She could still hear his even strokes cleaving the water, but when she looked up, her horrified green eyes locked with his hot black ones. He was swimming away all right, but he had changed to a smooth, even backstroke, all the while watching her emerge from the shelter of the water. She clutched a sheer camisole to her breasts, glaring at him, not able to think of anything vile enough to say.

  “Turnabout's fair play, Carrie. You watched me strip. I get to watch you dress,” he called out, then stopped swimming and treaded water while his eyes raked over her pale-pink skin, that length of slim elegant leg, sleek flair of hip, and swell of breast that he had felt only a moment ago. He swallowed a groan of frustrated misery. Dammit, she was beautiful, perfectly, magnificently beautiful!

  Snatching up her blouse, boots, and pants, she yelled furiously over one shoulder, “You—you half-breed! You bastard!”

  His voice mocked her as she vanished into the cover of the bushes alongside the bank. “Guilty on the first count, Firehair, but not the last. My mother was married to Noah Sinclair just as legally as you are!”

  Damn him for putting it that way, for reminding her! He was her husband's son. She felt suddenly in need of a bath in spite of her long swim in the clean, clear water.

  * * * *

  Hawk rode up to the corral, where Kyle Hunnicut was slowly removing the saddle from his horse. Without seeming to acknowledge his friend's arrival, Hunnicut grunted as he swung the heavy load across a fence rail. “Yew been gone long 'nough. Find yew a woman with yer ma's folks?”

  Hawk grinned as he slid off Redskin. “Not the way you think, amigo. We'll have to go to town for that. Man'd get scalped in Iron Heart's band for fooling around with the women.”

  “Too damn good fer their own good if’n ya ask me,” he said with a grunt, dragging the saddle into the big tack barn next to the corral.

  After both men had stowed their gear and rubbed down their horses, Kyle gave Hawk a level look and said, “Somethin's eatin' at ya, Longlegs. Wanna palaver?”

  “How in hell do you read people so well, Kyle? Hell, I don't know. A lot of things are bothering me.” His face darkened as he recalled the feel of Carrie's wet skin that afternoon. After she had left, he had dressed and ridden around aimlessly for several hours, trying to suppress the unexpected surge of desire she'd elicited from him. No, he couldn't confess that encounter—not even to Kyle!

  “You're right in part, I guess. There is a girl in Grandfather's village. He'd like me to marry her and live with them.”

  Kyle looked at the anguished face of his friend, understanding the tearing of his soul, perhaps better than anyone. “An’ yew cain't rightly decide whether ta be red er white.” It wasn't a question. He had long known of Hawk's divided loyalties. He spat a wad of tobacco and said, “I reckon if'n ya marry Cheyenne, thet burns yer bridges, don't it? Yew got unfinished business here, though.”

  Hawk looked up abruptly. “What do you mean—the rustling?”

  “Railroad. I heerd some talk from Noah’s ole hands. Seems he's got 'em becomin' sodbusters. Leastways fer a while.” He spat again in disgust.”

  Hawk's eyes blazed. “That's what Grandfather told me. You're right, as usual, Kyle. I have to do whatever I can for his band, to secure their lands here before I ride off Circle S again, this time for good.”

  Kyle assessed his friend's predicament shrewdly. “Yep, I fìggered yew'd leave fer good this time, whut with thet .new filly o' Noah's. She ain't all bad, though. Fer a tenderfoot, she's got real spunk. Rides out ever day—astride, even though th' ole man pitched a real bitch ‘bout it.” He chuckled. “Whenever he's off ta Miles City politickin', she gits out her pants 'n' takes off on Taffy. Why, today—”

  Hawk cut in abruptly, “I know you fancy yourself in love with that redheaded baggage, but let her and Noah settle their own problems. I'm interested in who's buying up homestead lots along Circle S property. Get me a list of names, Kyle.”

  “Whut yew fixin' ta do? Yew cain't stop th' railroad. It's acomin', Longlegs, damn if n it ain't.”

  “I know that. Question is, where will it be routed—through the southern Yellowstone country or north on Krueger's land? The farther away from Cheyenne summer hunting grounds, the better. I'm going to snoop in town at the clerk's office. You check things around here. Then I'll decide what to do about Noah's schemes. Any more stock missing?”

  “Old man's madder'n a biled owl. Figger it's Krueger's men.” He chuckled, remembering the fat herd on the east range lost last week. It was Krueger all right. He looked thoughfully at Hawk. “Yew figgerin' whut I think yew are?”

  Hawk's smile did not extend to his cold black eyes. “That Karl Krueger and I might have a common enemy?” He nodded slowly.

  * * * *

  After telling Feliz she had a headache and needed to rest, Carrie spent the afternoon in her room. In truth, she tossed fitfully on her bed, awash in humiliated misery over her encounter with Hawk Sinclair. How could she ever face him again? Noah would know at once that something had transpired between them. Even worse than her husband's wrath was her own gnawing sense of guilt and confusion over the feelings Hawk had awakened in her.

  As a schoolgirl in St. Louis, she had found some young men attractive. When Gerald had kissed her, she had thought she was in love with him, but time and maturity had made her realize how shallow the infatuation had been on both their parts. After her first weeks around Hawk, she had developed a growing sense of uneasiness that really had nothing to do with his Indian blood, but much to do with his magnetic maleness.

  Until today she had not faced that fact. Now that she had done so, she could not deal with the shame it engendered. And the worst part was his mocking indifference to her. He had let her go. With her face flaming, Carrie admitted to her tortured soul that if he had pressed his suit in the water, she would have welcomed it.

  “What kind of harlot am I? Has Noah's callous depravity driven me to this, or was I always destined to be bad?” Silent tears seared her cheeks as she lay alone in her room.

  * * * *

  That night at dinner Carrie was composed, at least on the surface. Painstakingly she had soaked her ravaged face with cold water and then had applied one of Feliz's cucumber facial remedies. With clenched teeth she had decided to show Hawk the stuff Carrie Patterson was made of. She would be calm and beautiful, as unconcerned over the afternoon's debacle as he. Having selected a dress of deep green crepe, she then washed and curled her hair and applied a dab of artful rouge before donning the sleekly elegant gown. It picked up the color of her eyes and made her look older and more sophisticated. Noah would like it. Perversely, she hoped Hawk would, too.

  He did. Entering the parlor for a before-dinner whiskey, he took in the fire-haired vision dressed in dark green. She stood with her profile to him, facing Noah and toying with a crystal stemmed glass filled with wine. Feeling a sudden rush of desire, Hawk took iron rein on his emotions and forced himself to saunter silently to the bar for his drink.

  Noah ignored him, since they had exchanged testy words earlier that afternoon about his visit with the Cheyenne. Carrie looked past her husband's shoulder at the immaculately attired young man who was transformed from a sweaty savage in buckskins to a barbarously handsome stranger in tailored black broadcloth. His dark face split in a sardonic smile. In a mock salute to her, he raised his glass
behind Noah's back. A ruby ring winked insolently from his hand as he quaffed the whiskey.

  Mrs. Thorndyke announced dinner stiffly. The meal was strained, but somehow Carrie managed to eat and drink calmly and even offer a few words to the desultory conversation.

  Noah and Hawk talked about the rustling and the progress of the railroad. She sensed an undercurrent between father and son over the details of where the rail line was to be laid, but did not understand enough to dare ask questions. She would talk to Frank about the matter tomorrow.

  Frank Lowery had quickly joined Feliz as Carrie's staunchest ally. Perhaps it was their common animosity toward Noah that drew them together. Frank intensely disliked his boss. Several times she had wanted to ask why, but felt it was presuming too much. For now she was glad to have someone who would ride with her and teach her about the operation of the ranch. Frank, who was Noah's age, treated her like an adored daughter, which was balm to her wounded spirit.

  * * * *

  Early the next morning, as soon as Carrie was sure Noah and Hawk were both gone for the day, she put on her most comfortable riding pants, really a split skirt that Feliz had fashioned for her, and headed to the corral where Taffy Girl waited.

  Frank was just issuing the last instructions to a couple of bronc busters at the breaking fence when he spied her and waved. He watched the graceful ease with which she now rode. In a few short months she had become an accomplished horsewoman. The youthful flush of vivacious joy on her face as she trotted Taffy up to him tugged at Frank's heart. Despite the difference in appearance and culture, Marah and Carrie were both so alike, so in love with life's simple pleasures, so kind and desirous of pleasing others. Why did Noah treat them so rottenly? Swearing to himself, Frank decided some men had all the luck and deserved none of it.

  “If'n ya kin wait up a spell, we'll ride ta th' line camp 'n' I'll show ya th' fat bunch o' calves there.” His broad, toothy grin was infectious.