Though his skin looked even more weathered and leathery than many others she’d seen here, his beard wasn’t nearly as slick and long. His pallor had almost a bluish tinge. He didn’t look sickly, but she couldn’t imagine what else would give that coloring. As he studied her, his eyes softened, and his mouth curved into a pleasant smile. Nothing suggestive in his expression at all. “It’s a pleasure for you ladies to visit. The fellows call me Ol’ Henry.”
Before she could introduce herself, Faith jumped in. “We’re the Misses Collins. That’s Juniper, Lorelei, Rosemary, and I’m Faith. That in Lorelei’s arms is Boots, the baby coyote she’s raising.”
A frown plunged across Mr. Turner’s brow as he leaned over the fire and laid out four hunks of meat on a rock near the flame.
Henry—should that be Mr. Ol’ Henry? Or simply Mr. Henry?—was nodding, his smile spreading to reveal a flash of grayish teeth. “I’m glad Riley brought you over. We wereworried about those men lining up twenty thick outside your lodge.”
Mr. Turner—Riley—straightened from the meat and stood, then reached for one of the thicker logs from a pile of firewood and moved it closer to Ol’ Henry before he perched on its end. “Tell us more about this Peigan woman you’re looking for. Ol’ Henry here has been trapping for at least twenty winters. There’s a good chance he’s sat at the fire of every Peigan chief on either side of the Rockies.”
She sent another look to Ol’ Henry. Twenty years seemed impressive, though his appearance looked like he might have been at the work for fifty. If the tales the wagon drivers told of wild animals and wilder men were true, surviving twenty years in this land must be quite a feat.
Both men were looking at her and her sisters, waiting for more details. Juniper glanced at Rosie, the same way Faith and Lorelei did. She was usually the spokeswoman among them.
Rosie didn’t hesitate. “Our father knew her when he traveled through the land between the Missouri River and the mountains, about twenty years ago. He was injured in a buffalo hunt on the plains, near a giant boulder shaped like a windmill, and this Peigan woman named Steps Right found him and sent for help. We’re not certain of her age, but she would be at least forty years old. We have something to give to her, and we want to make sure she received the horses our father sent her.” Rosemary pressed her mouth closed, as that was all they’d agreed they would tell.
In truth, Papa’s final request had left so many questions. Why now, after all these years, was it so important to find this native woman who may or may not still be alive? If it wasso important to return the blue bead necklace back to her and make sure she received the gift of two horses he’d sent after his return east, why hadn’t he done it while he lived?
When she and her sisters had gathered around his bed after that awful carriage accident, he’d been so pale, every word requiring painful effort. Tears had clouded Juniper’s vision, and she’d only wanted him to stop talking, to save his strength so he could recover, despite the surgeon’s prognosis. Of course they’d agreed to find this woman named Steps Right. Anything to calm his urgency.
Now, Ol’ Henry’s brows lifted. “That’s all you know of her? A Peigan woman more than forty years old? Your father couldn’t remember anything more?”
Rosie leaned forward to brace her arms on her legs. “Mr. Turner said there’s a Peigan band here at the rendezvous.” Avoiding the question. Good. “We’re planning to find them and ask if a woman named Steps Right lives among them. Do you know if any of them speak English, or will we need to hire an interpreter?”
The two men exchanged glances, and it was hard to tell exactly what that look said. Then Ol’ Henry turned to Rosie. “There are a few men in that band who speak passable English, and one of them a bit of French. I suspect they’ll be struck dumb seeing you ladies. You’re not a common sight in these parts.”
Heat flushed up Juniper’s neck. She had to stop growing embarrassed about their gender. It just wasn’t a thing spoken of so freely—or so often—back in Virginia.
Of course, they’d expected things to be different out here. They’d discussed at length how careful they would need to be in this rough camp, how they should never wanderaround alone. How important it was for them all to carry a gun everywhere they went. And they’d spent long hours learning to use the rifles and boot pistols. But knowing and planning hadn’t quite prepared her for actually experiencing this place.
Allthese men.
“I’ll go for you.” Mr. Turner spoke up for the first time since he’d brought them to this fire. His gaze hovered on Rosemary, then slipped to Juniper for a single heartbeat. He really was a handsome man, especially when those pale green eyes landed on a girl. They had the power to make her pulse rush.
But that was the last thing she could allow. She and her sisters had discussed this too. None of them could fall for any of the men out here. There were plenty of decent fellows back home, and allowing some mountain man to sweep a girl off her feet could put all of them in danger. At the very least, it would get in the way of their mission.
They’d come to find Steps Right. Nothing else. At least nothing that concerned the male of the species.
Mr. Turner’s attention flicked back to Rosemary, freeing Juniper from the draw of his eyes. Though she couldn’t help a little jealousy toward her older sister. Rosie always got the attention. She was the oldest, after all. The one people looked to when speaking to any of them.
Juniper turned her own focus to Rosie as her sister shook her head. “We’ll make the inquiries. It might be wise for us to take along an interpreter, though.” She looked between the two men. “Do either of you speak their language?”
“It’s not safe for you all to go.” Mr. Turner’s voice came a little louder than before, evidence of his frustration. “I canbe your spokesman. Tell me everything you want to ask, and I’ll state it word for word.”
He was wasting his breath, for Rosie wouldn’t be swayed. This was another thing they’d agreed on. Because they knew no one here at the rendezvous, they wouldn’t trust their message to anyone except an interpreter, and only then when they were present with him. There was so much they didn’t know about this woman they sought. She might well have a jealous husband who would thwart their efforts to find her.
Rosemary held herself calmly. “Is it that you fear for our safety among the tribes? If they’re dangerous, why would they be allowed here at the rendezvous?” Papa hadn’t talked of the Indians very often when he told stories of his travels. Mostly he described the land and the animals. But when he had mentioned the natives, he usually spoke of them as friendly, or at least curious. Juniper wasn’t naïve enough to believe all were like that. Just like all white men weren’t harmless. Every man had the power to choose his path for himself.
Mr. Turner shook his head, and even through his beard she could see the tightening of his jaw. “The Peigan are the most peaceable band of Blackfoot. They’re not a danger exactly, not to the men here. But for white women ...” His voice trailed off as though they should know exactly what danger there would be for white women.
She could imagine several different possibilities. She fought her flush, and this time she was fairly sure she won.
Rosemary turned to Ol’ Henry. “Sir, do you speak the language of the Peigan? Might you be willing to accompany us as interpreter? We’ll pay for the service.”
Juniper had to bite her lip to keep her smile tucked away. Rosie had more pluck than a scrappy rooster.
“I’ll be your interpreter.” Mr. Turner nearly grunted the words, clearly against his will.
Rosie shifted back to him. “And you are fluent in their language?”
