Brave the Wild Wind Read Online Free PDF Page B

would expect of a white, and she might get an arrow in her back for her foolishness. She stayed right where she was.
    She waited several moments more before she spoke in a loud, clear voice, her tone friendly: “I can use the company, and I’ve food to share, if you’ll just come by the fire where I can see you.”
    No one answered. Should she say it again in the Cheyenne tongue?
    She still didn’t move, but she tried Cheyenne. “I am Looks Like Woman, friend of the Cheyenne. I have a fire to share and food, if you will make yourself known to me.”
    Still no answer. She moved between fear and relief when ten minutes passed without a sound. Blackstar had quieted down, too. Still, it wasn’t like Blackstar to make a fuss about nothing.
    And then suddenly he was there, standing beside her. Jessie’s hand flew to her chest in shock. She hadn’t heard him approach. One second the space was empty, and then those moccasined feet were there, spread apart, inches from her crossed legs.
    Her eyes traveled up his long legs in fringed leggings, past the breechcloth that came only to the middle of his thighs, over the wide expanse of chest that was bare and thickly muscled. Scars there attested to his courage and endurance. White Thunder had similar scars, scars from a Sun Dance of several years past.
    As her eyes moved upward, she was surprised to see a man not more than twenty-five years old. His face was arresting, with copper skin stretched over high cheekbones, a hawklike nose, and ebony eyes. The eyes revealed nothing. His black hair was long and loose in the back, with two thin braids in the front. In one braid he wore a single blue feather. A bow and arrows were slung over his shoulder. His hands were empty, showing that he did not consider her a threat.
    “You’re a handsome one, aren’t you?” Jessie said as she finished looking him over.
    The brave’s eyes met hers, and she blushed, realizing what she had said. But his expressiondidn’t change. Had he understood? She got to her feet slowly, so as not to alarm him. Then she got her first reaction from him, as the blanket fell away and he saw her skintight pants and gun holster.
    Before she could think what to do, he reached for her jacket and spread it open. His eyes lingered on the soft mounds that pressed tightly against her shirt front, yet Jessie didn’t dare jerk away.
    Finally he released her, and Jessie let out the breath she had been holding. “Well, now that’s settled, perhaps we can communicate. You speak English? No?” She switched to the only Indian tongue she knew. “Cheyenne? Are you Cheyenne?”
    He surprised Jessie then by letting off a long stream of words in a deep, resounding voice. Unfortunately, the single word she recognized was a Dakota word.
    “You are Sioux,” she concluded, disappointed, because although the Cheyenne and Sioux dialects were similar, they were not the same.
    Jessie had never talked with a Sioux warrior, had only seen a few over the years, a few who had visited White Thunder’s camp. This brave was of the tribes still actively hostile to whites, tribes so powerful they had forced the Army to abandon territory. The Sioux and Northern Cheyenne had not been subdued by the whites, unlike nearly all the other Plains Indians. They had demanded the whole Powder River region as their hunting ground—and gotten it, too. And here she was, facing a Sioux warrior, and he had found her in his territory.
    The direction her thoughts were taking was alarming, and Jessie put a stop to them right there. She had no reason to fear this brave. Yet. He had condescended to speak to her, which was a good sign.
    “I am called Jessica Blair by the whites, and Looks Like Woman by the Cheyenne. I come here often to visit my friend White Thunder and his family, but I am early this year, so I will return in the morning to my home in the south. Do you know White Thunder?”
    She helped the lengthy explanation along with what sign language she