challenge back in his face, but instead she only grew pale. With a sinking heart he walked out and softly closed the door.
After a poor night’s rest, Amy awoke just after dawn to the ring of an ax. Slipping from bed, she approached the window, wondering who would be in her yard chopping wood. Pressing her face to the glass, she peered out into the grayish gloom.
“Swift!”
Her fingers tightened on the window sash when she spotted him. His black, collar-length hair was wind-tossed and damp with sweat, but those who didn’t know better might think it was mussed from sleep and damp from washing his face. Naked to the waist, he afforded her a view of his sun-burnished upper torso. With every movement, muscle bunched across his broad back. Except for the gun belt strapped around his waist, he looked like a man who had just crawled out of bed to chop wood for the breakfast fire. A fire that people would assume was to be built in her stove.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she called, glancing anxiously toward town to see if anyone had seen him.
He didn’t seem to hear her. Infuriated, Amy grabbed her wrapper, shoving her arms down the sleeves as she dashed from the bedroom. When she threw the door wide and yelled the question again, he ceased swinging the ax and turned the full impact of his gaze on her, beginning at her toes and working his way up to her face, his interest lingering at several points in between.
“I’m chopping my woman’s firewood,” he explained with a lazy grin. “That is how you white folks do things, isn’t it?”
“I’m not your woman! And I don’t appreciate your parading about my yard half-dressed. I’m a schoolteacher, Swift. Do you want me to lose my job?”
He balanced a partially split chunk of wood on the block, stepped back, and rendered it in two with one mighty swing.
Sputtering, Amy ran onto the porch. “You get out of here. People will see you and think you’ve been here all night.”
“Now why didn’t I think of that?”
She watched him split another log, her temper rising with each report of the ax. When he continued to ignore her, she braved the yard barefoot, uncertain what to do once she reached him but convinced she had to do something.
“I said get off my place.”
“Our place.”
“What?”
“Our place. What’s yours is mine, what’s mine is yours. You know how it goes.”
“You don’t have anything but a horse.”
“He’s one hell of a good horse, though.” His eyes met hers, dancing with mischief. “My, my, Amy, you are a fetching sight in that nightdress. From a distance, I bet we look like we’re making eyes at each other.”
Amy felt heat rising up her neck. “Get out!”
He gave her a measuring glance. “You giving me the boot?”
She wanted to wrest the ax from him but didn’t quite dare. “Teaching is my life. Do you understand that?”
“Yeah, and it’s a hell of a waste.”
“It isn’t a waste. I like it. I love it!”
“Fine with me. Teach to your little heart’s content. They don’t have anything against married women teaching, do they?”
Amy stared up at him, legs quivering with rage. She knotted her hands. He noted the gesture and grinned, his laughing eyes daring her to strike him. Amy came close to accommodating him. Only the thought of what he might do in retaliation stopped her.
“The men on the school committee will terminate me on the spot if they think I’m engaging in—in improper behavior. Unlike you, I can’t steal for a living.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her, his grin widening. “Would you listen to yourself? Are you the same girl who helped me tug all the ropes coming from Old Man’s lodge one night and then hid with me in the brush to watch all his wives run to join him in his buffalo robes? Improper, Amy?”
Lips parted, she gazed up at him, unable to speak. It had been years since she had thought of that night. She and Swift had rolled in the grass, bent double with
After a poor night’s rest, Amy awoke just after dawn to the ring of an ax. Slipping from bed, she approached the window, wondering who would be in her yard chopping wood. Pressing her face to the glass, she peered out into the grayish gloom.
“Swift!”
Her fingers tightened on the window sash when she spotted him. His black, collar-length hair was wind-tossed and damp with sweat, but those who didn’t know better might think it was mussed from sleep and damp from washing his face. Naked to the waist, he afforded her a view of his sun-burnished upper torso. With every movement, muscle bunched across his broad back. Except for the gun belt strapped around his waist, he looked like a man who had just crawled out of bed to chop wood for the breakfast fire. A fire that people would assume was to be built in her stove.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she called, glancing anxiously toward town to see if anyone had seen him.
He didn’t seem to hear her. Infuriated, Amy grabbed her wrapper, shoving her arms down the sleeves as she dashed from the bedroom. When she threw the door wide and yelled the question again, he ceased swinging the ax and turned the full impact of his gaze on her, beginning at her toes and working his way up to her face, his interest lingering at several points in between.
“I’m chopping my woman’s firewood,” he explained with a lazy grin. “That is how you white folks do things, isn’t it?”
“I’m not your woman! And I don’t appreciate your parading about my yard half-dressed. I’m a schoolteacher, Swift. Do you want me to lose my job?”
He balanced a partially split chunk of wood on the block, stepped back, and rendered it in two with one mighty swing.
Sputtering, Amy ran onto the porch. “You get out of here. People will see you and think you’ve been here all night.”
“Now why didn’t I think of that?”
She watched him split another log, her temper rising with each report of the ax. When he continued to ignore her, she braved the yard barefoot, uncertain what to do once she reached him but convinced she had to do something.
“I said get off my place.”
“Our place.”
“What?”
“Our place. What’s yours is mine, what’s mine is yours. You know how it goes.”
“You don’t have anything but a horse.”
“He’s one hell of a good horse, though.” His eyes met hers, dancing with mischief. “My, my, Amy, you are a fetching sight in that nightdress. From a distance, I bet we look like we’re making eyes at each other.”
Amy felt heat rising up her neck. “Get out!”
He gave her a measuring glance. “You giving me the boot?”
She wanted to wrest the ax from him but didn’t quite dare. “Teaching is my life. Do you understand that?”
“Yeah, and it’s a hell of a waste.”
“It isn’t a waste. I like it. I love it!”
“Fine with me. Teach to your little heart’s content. They don’t have anything against married women teaching, do they?”
Amy stared up at him, legs quivering with rage. She knotted her hands. He noted the gesture and grinned, his laughing eyes daring her to strike him. Amy came close to accommodating him. Only the thought of what he might do in retaliation stopped her.
“The men on the school committee will terminate me on the spot if they think I’m engaging in—in improper behavior. Unlike you, I can’t steal for a living.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her, his grin widening. “Would you listen to yourself? Are you the same girl who helped me tug all the ropes coming from Old Man’s lodge one night and then hid with me in the brush to watch all his wives run to join him in his buffalo robes? Improper, Amy?”
Lips parted, she gazed up at him, unable to speak. It had been years since she had thought of that night. She and Swift had rolled in the grass, bent double with
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