Sloan nodded with a slight shrug. “We won’t be running into any troops. Not today. We’re heading west.”
“Crow country?”
“Probably not that far.”
She approached Sloan’s horse, frowning. “You’re only hunting to make sure there are no more Crow parties in the area, aren’t you?”
“We’re hunting because the season is still good. And maybe we’re looking for a few Crow.”
“Be careful, Sloan. Make him be careful, too, please.”
“We both know what we’re doing, Skylar.”
“Generals with every skill in the world and years of experience can be shot out of their saddles.”
“Skylar, we’ll be careful. By the way, what’s for dinner?”
The wicked gleam in his eye assured her he was well aware there might be controversy within her tipi.
“Something quite unbelievable,” she assured him sweetly. Then she started, moving back, because from where she had stood, Sloan’s horse had blocked her view of the trail from the camp—and the fact that Hawk had ridden back along it. He moved his horse alongside Sloan’s, talking to his friend. “Are you joining us, or do you intend to flirt with my wife all day?”
Sloan refused to take offense. “I’d probably rather flirt with your wife. Actually, I was just asking about dinner.”
Hawk lifted a brow as he gazed down at Skylar.
“She’s assured me that the meal will be unbelievable,” Sloan said pleasantly.
“You came back to ask about dinner?” he demanded of Sloan.
“I’m hungry,” Sloan said simply. Hawk gazed at him through narrowed eyes. “And quite curious to discover your wife’s cooking talents. And besides, I thought she did deserve an explanation of where we were going.”
“Hunting,” Hawk said.
“And looking for Crows,” Skylar accused him.
Now Hawk was glaring at Sloan. Sloan lifted a hand. “I told her we know what we’re doing?—”
“And I told him that the most experienced man can get himself killed.”
“I’m not going to get myself killed—if I’m the one you’re worried about. And you needn’t fear for yourself. Mygrandfather knows that in case something happens to me, you’re to be returned to Mayfair.”
“I’m not worried about getting back,” she told him.
“Then I guess we’re all just worrying about dinner,” Sloan interjected.
Hawk made no effort to hide his exasperation. He leaned toward Skylar, saying, “Lodge pole!” Then he kneed Tor and cantered off down the trail.
“Lodge pole?” Sloan demanded.
Skylar shrugged. “Is there any recourse Sioux women have against their husbands?”
“Divorce,” Sloan said cheerfully.
“Can’t she tie him to a lodge pole and take out her frustrations on him?”
Sloan laughed softly. “I’m afraid you’ve little hope of ever doing that. If he were to beat you too severely, your relatives could certainly protest and endanger his respect within the community. But you haven’t any relatives here. Skylar…”
“Yes?”
