glanced at her through his lashes. He couldn't kill her. He didn't kill without reason, and as irritating as she was, it wasn't a good enough excuse to end her life.
"Sir, where are you from?" She skipped beside him.
He walked faster. A hand touched his arm and he pushed it away.
"Wakina means Thunder in Lakota," he said, still feeling the heat from her hand on his arm.
"Well, that makes perfect sense," she puffed.
He didn't know why he'd told her Wakina's Lakota name, or why he hadn't jumped on the horse's back leaving her far behind him. He scowled at her and an innocence he'd witnessed before surrounded her . Ina .
There had been nothing soft, nothing warm in his life for years and he didn't know what to do with it—with her. She had an aura that illuminated a goodness he'd thought forgotten within the wasichu.
She was different.
"He is the color of thunder clouds, dark gray. I see why you named him that." She ran her hand along Wakina's mane.
He ignored her.
"Where are you from?"
He avoided the question the first time. He didn't know, didn't want to remember. "I've lived all over."
She nodded, satisfied with his answer. "Do you belong to a tribe?"
"No." I belong to no one .
"Oh." She was silent for a long time, and he thought she was done asking questions until her full lips opened again. "Are you white, too?"
Not by choice. "Yes."
She stopped. He didn't, and soon he heard the rustling of the leaves as she caught up.
"You're a—
"Half breed." He didn't know what she was going to say and he didn't give a damn. Half breeds were outcasts. He'd been reminded every day of his life what he was.
"I wasn't about to say that," she whispered.
"It is what I am."
"It is cruel."
He tripped on a root but continued walking. "Why would you think it is cruel when your people continue to use it?"
"My people may use it, but it doesn't mean I do."
He'd brought her to his camp. Damn it . What the hell had he been thinking? He'd let his guard down for five minutes and this is what happens. Why won't she go away? Hell, even men feared him, yet this little minx walked beside him as if he were a preacher giving the Sunday Sermon.
He frowned.
She lifted her skirt, and he spied the white of her calves. His pulse quickened.
She plopped down onto the ground and crossed her legs. "You enjoy sleeping under the stars?"
He'd enjoy it if she'd leave.
"What is your name?"
"Otakatay."
He smiled, knowing what would come next.
"What does it mean?"
"One who kills many."
He watched amused as her mouth opened and closed a few times. White delicate hands fidgeted on her lap. "Why would your mother name you that?"
Ina. He made a fist, constricting the muscles within his arms. He could not change the past. He couldn't make things right. He touched the feather in his hair.
"Have you killed many?"
Her words seemed far away. "Yes." There was nothing more to say. He'd killed more than he could remember, more than he should have. More than he wanted.
"Are you a bounty hunter?"
Why was she asking so many damn questions and why in hell was he answering them? He left Wakina to wander and sat down across from her. He threw her a menacing glare, but the little nit didn't even flinch. He pulled the knife from his back and with brisk movements, sharpened it.
"Is that what you do?"
"I kill for money."
She chewed on the inside of her cheek.
She was troubled, he could tell. He hoped she'd get up and leave, now that she knew what he was.
"Have you ever killed someone who was innocent?"
He held the blade of his knife up to his cheek. "I kill those who are deadly and those who I'm paid to kill."
"Even if they are innocent?"
"It doesn't matter to me what they are as long as I get paid."
"Even...even women and children?" She folded her hands together, twisting them until the knuckles were white.
His face hardened. "No children."
"But, but you've killed women."
He remained silent.
"Oh my."
He'd had enough of the questions and
"Sir, where are you from?" She skipped beside him.
He walked faster. A hand touched his arm and he pushed it away.
"Wakina means Thunder in Lakota," he said, still feeling the heat from her hand on his arm.
"Well, that makes perfect sense," she puffed.
He didn't know why he'd told her Wakina's Lakota name, or why he hadn't jumped on the horse's back leaving her far behind him. He scowled at her and an innocence he'd witnessed before surrounded her . Ina .
There had been nothing soft, nothing warm in his life for years and he didn't know what to do with it—with her. She had an aura that illuminated a goodness he'd thought forgotten within the wasichu.
She was different.
"He is the color of thunder clouds, dark gray. I see why you named him that." She ran her hand along Wakina's mane.
He ignored her.
"Where are you from?"
He avoided the question the first time. He didn't know, didn't want to remember. "I've lived all over."
She nodded, satisfied with his answer. "Do you belong to a tribe?"
"No." I belong to no one .
"Oh." She was silent for a long time, and he thought she was done asking questions until her full lips opened again. "Are you white, too?"
Not by choice. "Yes."
She stopped. He didn't, and soon he heard the rustling of the leaves as she caught up.
"You're a—
"Half breed." He didn't know what she was going to say and he didn't give a damn. Half breeds were outcasts. He'd been reminded every day of his life what he was.
"I wasn't about to say that," she whispered.
"It is what I am."
"It is cruel."
He tripped on a root but continued walking. "Why would you think it is cruel when your people continue to use it?"
"My people may use it, but it doesn't mean I do."
He'd brought her to his camp. Damn it . What the hell had he been thinking? He'd let his guard down for five minutes and this is what happens. Why won't she go away? Hell, even men feared him, yet this little minx walked beside him as if he were a preacher giving the Sunday Sermon.
He frowned.
She lifted her skirt, and he spied the white of her calves. His pulse quickened.
She plopped down onto the ground and crossed her legs. "You enjoy sleeping under the stars?"
He'd enjoy it if she'd leave.
"What is your name?"
"Otakatay."
He smiled, knowing what would come next.
"What does it mean?"
"One who kills many."
He watched amused as her mouth opened and closed a few times. White delicate hands fidgeted on her lap. "Why would your mother name you that?"
Ina. He made a fist, constricting the muscles within his arms. He could not change the past. He couldn't make things right. He touched the feather in his hair.
"Have you killed many?"
Her words seemed far away. "Yes." There was nothing more to say. He'd killed more than he could remember, more than he should have. More than he wanted.
"Are you a bounty hunter?"
Why was she asking so many damn questions and why in hell was he answering them? He left Wakina to wander and sat down across from her. He threw her a menacing glare, but the little nit didn't even flinch. He pulled the knife from his back and with brisk movements, sharpened it.
"Is that what you do?"
"I kill for money."
She chewed on the inside of her cheek.
She was troubled, he could tell. He hoped she'd get up and leave, now that she knew what he was.
"Have you ever killed someone who was innocent?"
He held the blade of his knife up to his cheek. "I kill those who are deadly and those who I'm paid to kill."
"Even if they are innocent?"
"It doesn't matter to me what they are as long as I get paid."
"Even...even women and children?" She folded her hands together, twisting them until the knuckles were white.
His face hardened. "No children."
"But, but you've killed women."
He remained silent.
"Oh my."
He'd had enough of the questions and
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