Even if she’d brought about David’s death.
He swore out loud. Dusk was already falling again. He’d been gone from Mayfair far longer than he’d intended, and he needed to travel out again to the river country beyond the hills where he knew he’d find his grandfather’s band.
But not tonight. Tonight…
He’d always been sparing in most things. His eating habits, his use of alcohol.
Not tonight. Tonight, he wanted to get rip-roaring drunk. Toast the old man.
Toast the new woman.
Fall into a deep, drunken sleep and dream that time could move backward and the plains could be big enough for the red men, the white men, and the buffalo.
He gave Wolf a last pat on the head and pushed himself back up to his feet. He opened the door, stepping back into the cabin.
She stood pensively before the fire, then looked at him warily as he entered. Her robe was drawn tight. She’d drawn her fingers through the long strands of her golden hair to somewhat righten it. She appeared calm, dignified, her eyes touching his with thatregal look she could manage. He noted again that she had been endowed with an almost startling beauty. The silver of her eyes was so intense, the gold of her hair so vivid, the sculpture of her oval face so defined, delicate, elegant, arresting. As he watched her, he realized that a tempting aroma was filling the cabin. She’d set a kettle atop the fire, and the hunger-rousing scent was wafting from it.
“It’s soup,” she murmured defensively. “You told me to make my myself at home. I found onions and potatoes to go with the ham. And some shell peas.”
“Ah. What a good wife,” he mocked. “She cooks.”
“What a good husband,” she retorted. “He drinks.”
“Cheers!” He found the whiskey bottle on the table and lifted it to her, smiling grimly as he spoke. “He drinks—and he’s a Sioux. Tell me, even if you’re absolutely determined to remain here—and I’ll grant you that Mayfair is a fine enough place to live—doesn’t it disturb you in the least that my skin is red? I am an Indian. A Sioux—considered by many whites to be among the most savage beasts on the plains. You were hardly enamored with me when we met.”
“You were attacking my stagecoach when we met.”
“It’s what Indians do.”
She ignored that, walking to the fire. “If you’d like to try this, I’ll get you a bowl.”
“Indeed, yes. I’m ravenous. Do so.”
She placed the soup before him. He pulled a chair from the table and tasted the soup, never taking his eyes from her.
“Well. Is it edible?”
“Not poisoned, right?”
“Not poisoned.”
“It’s quite adequate.”
“How kind,” she murmured coolly.
He caught her wrist, smiling up at her. “Perhaps it should have been poisoned. I’m a young man. It’s unlikely that you’ll induce me to expire from a heart attack.”
She wrenched her wrist free, rubbing it. “Enjoy your adequate soup. The next meal you get from me you’ll wear over your head before you ever get a chance to eat it.”
She poured herself a bowl, joining him at the opposite end of the table. He tore his eyes from her at last, finishing his bowl of soup quickly. He sat back, stared at the whiskey bottle, drank long and deeply once again.
“A vice you indulge in often?”
“Every time I acquire an unwanted bride.”
“Is that often?”
“Thankfully, no.”
