Lakota Surrender Read Online Free PDF Page B

her. The job of tuning the piano was almost done and she was feeling quite pleased with herself. Just two more octave notes and she was finished. She played one, then the other, turning the peg till she was satisfied. This done she moved farther down the piano and began to play a song.
    An odd sensation swept over her skin, leaving goose bumps along her arms and a prickly feeling at the back of her neck. She played a few more notes, then cocked her head to the side, her peripheral vision catching a glimpse of a white-clad figure. Thinking her senses were playing tricks on her again, Kristina started to turn away when the clean scent of prairie grass caught at her breath. She stopped, her fingers in midair, as the earth beneath her seemed to reel. To counter the sensation she set both feet on the ground and spun around.
    She had to look a long way up to meet the black eyes that were watching her intently. Her breath caught in her throat, and Kristina had to force herself to exhale. Perhaps, she decided, it would be best to stand.
    Clutching the piano with her hands behind her, she stood, noting with a mixture of dread, plus an odd sort of excitement, that this Indian stranger stood a good head taller than she.
    She stared into his face. He looked foreign, wild, and yet oddly familiar.
    She tried to smile, but it was shaky. “Hello,” she tried.
    He said nothing, his expression registering nothing, and he looked her directly in the eye.
    Kristina, unused to such open scrutiny, blushed. Where have I seen him before? Nervously, she wrung her hands, then gestured toward the piano. “I…I was just tuning it for the…ce…celebration today.”
    His gaze had left her eyes, was now roaming slowly, meticulously over the golden tan of her hair, the soft oval of her face, her nose, her lips, then downward toward her neck, stopping at the material of her gown as it clung to her shoulders.
    His gaze jerked back to hers. Quickly he signed a greeting and Kristina visibly relaxed.
    She knew the language of sign well, was able to converse in the language as though she, herself, were Indian.
    She moved her hands, motioning a response, but also asking, “Where are you from—what tribe?”
    He didn’t answer, but instead trod to her side, next to the piano.
    Kristina noted several things about him all at once: the fluid way he moved, as though it took no effort; the lone tooth dangling from a leather cord round his neck, the beaded earrings hanging from both earlobes, giving him not an air of effeminacy as one would have expected but a sense of potent strength. His hair was quite long, reaching way past his shoulders, and Kristina was startled to note that it did not detract from his allure. He was probably the most handsome man she’d ever seen.
    “What is this?” he signed, indicating the piano. He hadn’t looked at her, but when he turned back to her, catching her scrutiny of him, Kristina felt so embarrassed she couldn’t control the flush that warmed her face. Realizing her cheeks were awash with color, she averted her gaze.
    “It’s a piano,” she stated, stumbling over what to sign in reply, finally settling for “song-maker.” “Pi-a-no,” she repeated, pointing to it.
    She touched a key; then another and another.
    “See, when you touch it, it sings.” She attempted another uncertain smile. “Here, I’ll show you.”
    She invited him with gestures to touch a key, but he was not cooperative, and his face revealed no expression whatsoever.
    “Here.” She touched his hand. At the contact a sudden tremor shot up her arm, causing her to gasp.
    She pulled back, her eyes darting up to his, but she couldn’t read a thing from his gaze. His stare was unwavering, and she wondered if she were the only one who had felt it—the shock.
    “I…”
    He silenced her with a sign.
    Neither one spoke. Neither one moved. And for a moment, a short space of time, she felt her world stop.
    The sun beat down its warmth upon them, and