Cheyenne exclamation once, then again.
He stared at the woman before him. He didn’t want to look at her, and many were the times he forced himself to focus on something else.
But it was useless. No matter how hard he tried, his gaze returned again and again to Julia as she walked straight and proud before him.
He, himself, sat atop the scrawny mare while he had forced Julia to march on ahead of him. Not that she had protested. No, she had given him a look of total disinterest and had walked on ahead without even a backward glance. It had come as a surprise, this action of hers. He hadn’t expected her acquiescence. He had anticipated a fight, had prepared himself to quietly bear her scolding, only to have her respond with nothing more than…boredom.
And oddly, her behavior grated on him. It was he who was supposed to remain stoically reserved. It was he who should have let her realize his total disinterest. It was he who had cause to display his anger. And yet it was also he who found his glance returning to her again and again, his gaze catching the errant rays of sunlight that shimmered off her hair, her dress, her skin.
He grimaced. He had forgotten the effect Julia had on him, but he remembered now how his pulse had always raced whenever she was near him, despite his reluctance in the past to become acquainted with her.
He shrugged. He had made a small error today in not remembering this, one he would not repeat.
But he hadn’t realized the depth of her effect on him. He had only known that he’d needed to show Julia his anger. Wasn’t it because of her that he had lost all his wealth? Wasn’t it also true that, because of her, he could not follow his chosen destiny?
It had been a foolish thing for him to make her walk on ahead of him. He could see that now. But he’d needed to make her feel the weight of his annoyance, and this had been the form of its expression.
Still it wasn’t such a bad thing. Weren’t there some who would justify his action as correct? Wouldn’t they say he needed to ride instead of her, in case their party were confronted with an enemy? Were there not even some who would say it was his privilege as the protector of their party to ride while she walked?
But Neeheeowee knew he’d done what he did for none of those reasons. She had angered him. It was that simple.
His plan, however, had backfired, and Neeheeowee groaned as he watched the never-ending sway of Julia’s hips as she paced on ahead of him. She moved with a grace that was as rhythmic as it was beautiful, the fringe and beads of her elk-skin dress keeping rhythm to the movement of her feet. It was as though she danced instead of walked.
But it wasn’t that which bothered him most.
No, it wasn’t just the swing of her hips, which was, after all, barely discernible beneath her Indian garb. It was his reaction to her, the way his groin tightened as though he were seeing a female for the first time.
He was not supposed to feel these things…not for anyone…certainly not for Julia. She was white; she was foreign; she was a burden to him. Nothing more.
She also chose that moment to fling back the weight of her dark curls, causing the full cascade of her hair to fall almost to her waist, and Neeheeowee, all at once, could barely breathe. That the action only emphasized what he knew he shouldn’t notice didn’t help his cause.
And Neeheeowee, Cheyenne warrior, willing to risk his life for another, willing to face any pain, disciplined until he could confront and endure any torture, could not do one simple thing: He could not look away from the rhythmic sway of a woman’s walk.
Suddenly she stumbled, falling down, and Neeheeowee sprang off of the horse, coming before her in a few, quick steps.
“Henova’e he’tohe? Ne-toneto-mohta-he? What is it? How are you?” He knelt beside her.
“I don’t know what you’re saying.” She looked up at him then and Neeheeowee’s stomach fell. He almost groaned.
He
He stared at the woman before him. He didn’t want to look at her, and many were the times he forced himself to focus on something else.
But it was useless. No matter how hard he tried, his gaze returned again and again to Julia as she walked straight and proud before him.
He, himself, sat atop the scrawny mare while he had forced Julia to march on ahead of him. Not that she had protested. No, she had given him a look of total disinterest and had walked on ahead without even a backward glance. It had come as a surprise, this action of hers. He hadn’t expected her acquiescence. He had anticipated a fight, had prepared himself to quietly bear her scolding, only to have her respond with nothing more than…boredom.
And oddly, her behavior grated on him. It was he who was supposed to remain stoically reserved. It was he who should have let her realize his total disinterest. It was he who had cause to display his anger. And yet it was also he who found his glance returning to her again and again, his gaze catching the errant rays of sunlight that shimmered off her hair, her dress, her skin.
He grimaced. He had forgotten the effect Julia had on him, but he remembered now how his pulse had always raced whenever she was near him, despite his reluctance in the past to become acquainted with her.
He shrugged. He had made a small error today in not remembering this, one he would not repeat.
But he hadn’t realized the depth of her effect on him. He had only known that he’d needed to show Julia his anger. Wasn’t it because of her that he had lost all his wealth? Wasn’t it also true that, because of her, he could not follow his chosen destiny?
It had been a foolish thing for him to make her walk on ahead of him. He could see that now. But he’d needed to make her feel the weight of his annoyance, and this had been the form of its expression.
Still it wasn’t such a bad thing. Weren’t there some who would justify his action as correct? Wouldn’t they say he needed to ride instead of her, in case their party were confronted with an enemy? Were there not even some who would say it was his privilege as the protector of their party to ride while she walked?
But Neeheeowee knew he’d done what he did for none of those reasons. She had angered him. It was that simple.
His plan, however, had backfired, and Neeheeowee groaned as he watched the never-ending sway of Julia’s hips as she paced on ahead of him. She moved with a grace that was as rhythmic as it was beautiful, the fringe and beads of her elk-skin dress keeping rhythm to the movement of her feet. It was as though she danced instead of walked.
But it wasn’t that which bothered him most.
No, it wasn’t just the swing of her hips, which was, after all, barely discernible beneath her Indian garb. It was his reaction to her, the way his groin tightened as though he were seeing a female for the first time.
He was not supposed to feel these things…not for anyone…certainly not for Julia. She was white; she was foreign; she was a burden to him. Nothing more.
She also chose that moment to fling back the weight of her dark curls, causing the full cascade of her hair to fall almost to her waist, and Neeheeowee, all at once, could barely breathe. That the action only emphasized what he knew he shouldn’t notice didn’t help his cause.
And Neeheeowee, Cheyenne warrior, willing to risk his life for another, willing to face any pain, disciplined until he could confront and endure any torture, could not do one simple thing: He could not look away from the rhythmic sway of a woman’s walk.
Suddenly she stumbled, falling down, and Neeheeowee sprang off of the horse, coming before her in a few, quick steps.
“Henova’e he’tohe? Ne-toneto-mohta-he? What is it? How are you?” He knelt beside her.
“I don’t know what you’re saying.” She looked up at him then and Neeheeowee’s stomach fell. He almost groaned.
He
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