A Love Forbidden Read Online Free PDF Page B

“He’s married, but he keeps asking me to be his wife. He says he loves me.”
    Shiloh looked over at her. “And are you going to accept his offer?”
    Her companion giggled. “No. Though I like and respect the Utes, I’m not interested in permanently living like one. When Papa’s time here is over, I’d like to travel and maybe find some sort of government work in our nation’s capital. I don’t want to be tied down to any man. Leastwise, not for a long while to come.”
    “Me, neither,” Shiloh replied with a resolute nod. “Not for a long while to come.”
    Josie grabbed her arm and began to pull her forward. “Let’s go stand with Persune and his friends. The Bear Dance is about to start.”
    As they wound their way through the Utes who were beginning to take their seats around the outer edges of the corral—the men sitting on the north side, the women on the south—others moved forward to form the two lines facing each other in the center. Several older Ute men sitting beneath a brush shelter on the western end of the corral began to sing and scrape a short piece of wood down a long, notched stick. The sound was harsh and rasping.
    Shiloh knew the notched stick, in the Ute language, was called a morats and was supposed to imitate a growling bear. The morats was a special ceremonial tool only used for the Bear Dance.
    As they neared the spot where Persune stood talking with two other Ute men, one of the men, much taller than his compatriots, turned slightly in their direction. For a moment, he seemed not to take much notice of their approach. Then he abruptly stopped and blatantly stared at them. Or, rather, stared at Shiloh.
    An expression of disbelief then shock, as his gaze traveled from her hair to her face to finally rest at her throat, swept over his face. Shiloh felt the blood rush to her cheeks. She had expected some unwelcome gaping at her red hair, but this Indian’s response bordered on outright rudeness. Her eyes narrowed in irritation and, unconsciously, her hand rose to the base of her neck. As her fingers brushed the cross and eagle hanging there, a sudden realization shot through her.
    She looked back up at the tall Ute, whose own eyes at that moment lifted to lock gazes with hers. Eyes that were the most intense, rich shade of brown she’d ever seen. Eyes she’d recognize anywhere, even after all these years.
    Shiloh’s throat went dry. Her heart began a wild hammering in her chest. And, with the greatest difficulty, she forced a name to her lips that she hadn’t uttered in almost nine years.
    “Jesse,” Shiloh whispered. “Jesse . . .”

2
     
    Jesse . . .
    He saw her utter his name. Jesse . . . A name he hadn’t used since the day he’d ridden into the camp of his mother’s family and asked Captain Jack for a new name, a better name—a Ute name. And, since he had arrived on the cusp of a powerful windstorm, that had been his name ever since.
    Nuaru. Wind.
    As he gazed into Shiloh Wainwright’s soft, beautiful green eyes, however, Nuaru knew the past had come rushing back to confront him. Once again, whether he wished it or not, he’d be torn between two different worlds. Torn between Jesse Blackwater, the white side of him, and Nuaru, the Ute.
    The admission didn’t sit well with him. Anger stirred then flared into a blazing conflagration. Suddenly, he couldn’t remain there, breathing the same air as the young woman who, by her mere presence, evoked such painful memories.
    “I must go,” he said, leaning over to whisper in Persune’s ear. “I feel ill.”
    His friend turned, a look of incredulity on his dark bronze face. “But it isn’t permitted. Besides, you’ll disappoint far too many maidens who hope to choose you for the dance. And that, my friend, is not a wise move.”
    “I’m well aware of that, but it can’t be helped. I need—”
    “Persune!” a feminine voice called out.
    Nuaru winced. Too late. Now he couldn’t get away without