Deborah Camp Read Online Free PDF

He could make out very little of her features. A thick lock of her flame-colored hair curtained her cheek. Her nose was small, sculpted, a touch pugnacious. Her skin was lightly tanned, but looked to be soft. She had a generous mouth, her upper lip curvy and her lower one full, glistening. The primary attraction, to his mind, was that she was a white woman. Thank God. She had to have a man somewhere—hopefully, a white man who would help him out of this patch of trouble—if he lived that long.
    Whatever dream enthralled her also worried her, for her brow puckered, and she frowned and shifted irritably.
    He swallowed, making his throat work, then cleared it. His voice rattled past his dry lips.
    “Ma’am?” That’s what he’d meant to say, but what came out wasn’t a word, but the sound of an old, dying toad.
    Coming awake instantly, she sat upright and blinked owlishly at him. Her eyes were dark, framed by auburn lashes.
    “Ma’am?” This time the word emerged, but his voice was still not his own. “I hurt.”
    “You’re awake!” She leaned closer to peer into his face. “And about time, too.”
    “I hurt … bad.”
    “Good for you. That means you’re alive. You’ve been close to death the past few days.”
    Her voice was rich, deep, a little breathy. It fell pleasingly on his ears. “Days?” he repeated.
    “I set your leg and pulled the arrow from your chest. Now that you’re awake, I can tend to your wounds better. My medicine has chased away sickness. I can see color in your face. That means death has left you in my hands for now.” She pressed the back of her narrow wrist against his forehead. “Cooler. Much cooler.”
    “Water?”
    “Yes.” She dipped a tin cup into the bucket near her and gave it to him. His hand shook, but he directed the cup to his lips and spilled not a drop. “I’ll shave you and bathe you tonight.”
    He rolled his gray-green eyes her way. “Th–that’s okay.”
    “Your wound must be cleaned. Might as well clean all of you. I’ve done it once already.”
    It was then that he realized he was buck naked under the wool blanket and buffalo robe. Modesty spilled heat over his neck and face.
    “Uh … where’s your man? Out trapping?”
    She pushed her hair away from her face, then took the tin cup from him. Her eyes were dark brown and made him think of warm cocoa. The firelight played over her face and he saw that she was beautiful. Her skin was unlined and lightly freckled. Her eyes were large and wide-set. A shallow dimple adorned her chin.
    “I have no man,” she said, tipping up that chin in a show of pride. “I have tended to you by myself.”
    No man. Well, maybe that’s for the best, hethought, eyeing her beauty. An air of nobility clung to her. A wild spirit inhabited her earthy eyes. Suddenly, he was glad no man had claimed her.
    “What are you called?” she asked, rocking her head to one side, her hair spilling like a red curtain over her shoulder.
    He moistened his dry lips with his tongue. “Tucker.”
    “What Tucker? What is your Christian name?”
    “That’s it. Tucker Jones. What’s yours?”
    “You call me Copper. My whole name was Copper Headed Woman.”
    “That’s an Indian name.”
    She faced the fire, averting her gaze from his. “Yes. I’m Absaroka. Crow.”
    He stared at her for a full minute, sensing the pain beneath the stillness of her expression. “But you’re white. Did they kidnap you from your family?”
    She blinked and turned her head slowly to look at him again. “They are—
were
my people …” Her voice faded, then returned. “I have a hazy memory of my first family, but in my head and heart, I have always been Crow. It’s all I’ve known. But now I live on my own and belong to no people.”
    “On your own, huh? Since when?”
    “Last winter.” She looked into the dancing flames again. “You must be hungry. I’ll get you a bowl of soup.” Pushing to her feet, she let the wool shawl drop from her