She looked toward the cabin. “I missed most of the talk. I never figured on seeing my friend again.”
He checked his rifle. “Miss Braam’s been gone a long while. She’ll not be as you remember.”
“Has she forgotten her mother tongue?”
He stared down the rifle’s barrel before snapping it shut. “Seems so.”
“Maybe she can teach me Indian.”
“Lenape?” That nearly made him chuckle. “I’ve never heard the like.”
“Oh? Else you can teach me a few words before you go.”
She was all earnestness and entreaty. Any notion that she was being coy shattered. This was no coquettish Philadelphia miss. For a moment he stood stupefied.
“Well, Colonel, are you going to give me some words, or aren’t you?”
The gentle jibe hit its mark and wiped the amusement from his face. He eyed the cabin. What in thunderation was taking Maddie so long?
“Words.” He ran his fingers along the stubbled edge of his jaw. All the Lenape he knew left his head in exasperating fashion. “Mayhap you’d best teach her the white talk. She’s more in need of that than your learning Indian.”
The hopeful light left her face.
He wasn’t being ornery, just honest. “Speaking of words, how is it you have such a”—he stopped short of comely—“uncommon name?”
She picked a burr off her berry-stained apron. “’Twas my granny’s name. She hailed from Scotland.”
She’d turned a tad bashful, no longer looking at him. Beyond the gentle slope of her shoulder, he saw Maddie emerge from the cabin, Keturah and Mistress Swan in the doorway.
He swung himself into the saddle, reining around to face the deer path that had led them here. “Winkalit.”
Tessa echoed him. “What does it mean?”
“Ask Miss Braam,” he said as Maddie joined them.
Tessa nodded, a bit of the light he’d snuffed returning to her face. Bidding Maddie farewell, she began a slow walk toward the cabin, as bare of foot as she was bare of head.
Maddie waited till they’d entered the woods to tease him. “You in a courtin’ frame of mind, Colonel?”
“Miss Swan, you mean?”
“She’s awful pert.”
He ruminated on that till they’d crossed the first creek. Crooked Creek, Cutright’s map said. “She merely asked for Miss Braam’s belongings.”
“Mighty kind of her.” Maddie studied him knowingly. “Those town-bred gals seem to bore you. Maybe a frontier flower’ll do.”
He chuckled and pulled the brim of his hat lower. “You have some foolish notions.”
“Do I? Even Scripture says it’s not good for man to be alone. Take me, for instance. I get to ride into Fort Tygart to Jude, my lawfully wedded husband, while you face a cold bed and an old crone of a cook. What comfort’s to be had in that?”
“My being here is all business, remember,” he countered. “I aim to do my part to secure the frontier so the Swans can farm and ferry in peace and no one is taken captive like Keturah Braam. And I’m just as set on seeing no peaceful Indians abused or retaliated against for their more warring brothers.”
“Well, seems like you could enjoy yourself while you’re doin’ it,” she chided good-naturedly. “What’s more, I overheard you say you’d send Keturah’s belongings by a fort spy. Why not honor Miss Swan’s request yourself instead of rounding up somebody else?” Her gaze held his. “Or maybe Miss Braam’s more to your liking.”
He stayed silent, used to Maddie’s ribbing.
“I do believe it’s better for Miss Braam to be with the Swans than at the fort.” Her expression brightened. “Maybe we should pray one of them handsome brothers wins her.”
