To Tame A Rebel by Georgina Gentry

easily to the buggy, sat her on the seat.
    She didn’t answer. “I don’t like your familiarity.” She kept her voice cold, attempting to hide her shakiness, thinking about the heat and the strength of the man.
    â€œAll right, white girl.” His voice was cold, too, as he climbed up on the seat and snapped the reins. “Next time I’ll let you ruin those little shoes in the mud.”
    They started out of the ragged settlement and up a back road. It was a cold day, and there was no one in sight. She really should let someone know she was in the Indian camp. If no one knew . . . She looked about frantically.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” he growled.
    â€œNothing,” she lied. “I just thought someone should know where I am.”
    He laughed bitterly. “You’re safe enough. I’ll see the savages don’t scalp you and burn you at the stake.”
    She felt the hot blood rush to her face and fell silent, too embarrassed to protest again. You’re being a little fool, she told herself. These Indians are hungry, pitiful, and hemmed in by a large Confederate force. They aren’t going to do anything to harm you. Then she remembered Yellow Jacket’s hand on her shoulder and how it had trembled almost as if he were fighting to keep from pulling her into his embrace . . . or had she only imagined that because, at that moment, she had wondered how it would feel to be in his arms?
    They drove silently and in a few minutes were at the Creek camp.
    This time Yellow Jacket reached up to help her out of the buggy, and Twilight said, “I can get down by myself, thank you.”
    Then she promptly caught her foot in one of her skirt hoops and almost fell. The big Indian caught her arm and assisted her to her feet without speaking. Twilight felt like a fool, but said nothing as she gathered up her doctor bag and was led to the ancient one’s tent, where a bunch of stoney-faced warriors stood guard.
    â€œI have come to help,” she said. The other warriors looked at her with silent hostility, but Yellow Jacket motioned them away. “She will do well,” he insisted.
    Twilight relaxed at his good words and almost—but not quite—smiled at him. Then she turned to her patient. The old man seemed weary and listless. She had a bottle of bitters. She didn’t know if it would help, but she hadn’t much to offer. “Eat better food and stay out of the cold,” she told him. He nodded, but she was not sure he was listening.
    When she left the tent, accompanied by Yellow Jacket, he caught her arm. “It is well for you to say, ‘Eat better food.’ You know how shoddy the rations are that your brother gets for us?”
    â€œI—I’m sure Harvey is doing the best he can under the circumstances.”
    â€œFor himself, maybe,” the man grunted. “And it’s impossible to stay out of the cold in our flimsy tents and makeshift shelters.”
    She turned on him. “Don’t you people have permanent homes somewhere here in the Territory?”
    He laughed without mirth. “Certainly, but they have been overrun by rebel troops. Their officers stay in our warm log cabins and eat our beef.”
    She suspected that he spoke the truth. “What do you want from me?” she asked in frustration.
    Yellow Jacket towered over her. “He is our leader, and if he dies, the people will scatter, uncertain what to do. He must live to get us through . . .”
    She waited, but he stumbled to a halt, obviously having said more than he intended.
    â€œGet your people through what?”
    â€œNever mind,” he snapped. “Here, I will return you to the white camp.”
    She didn’t argue with him this time as his big hands encased her small waist and he lifted her to the buggy seat. The other Indians were still glaring at her in silent hostility as the pair drove away. She was glad then that she had Yellow