Pale Moon Stalker by Shirl Henke

Author:Shirl Henke
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: (¯`'•.¸//(*_*)\\¸.•'´¯)
ISBN: 9780843961126
Publisher: Shirl Henke
Published: 2008-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

After spending a relatively comfortable night sleeping in a bed, Sky and Max awakened at dawn, refreshed. So many long, dangerous days of hard riding had left them exhausted. They rejoined True Dreamer at Baldy's, ready to continue on their quest. Unsurprisingly, the old livery owner was nowhere to be found. Reading the rates posted on the stable sign, Max left the proper amount of money for boarding four horses overnight and they set out.

Sky looked over her shoulder at the sun spreading red, gold and orange streaks across the horizon. As they rode southeast toward Fort Worth, she said, "That vile old wretch is probably suffering a monumental headache from overindulgence."

True Dreamer merely grunted agreement, but Max chuckled grimly. "No, I suspect he's still passed out dead drunk in that bloody saloon. It will probably take him three days to sober up and repent the cheap whiskey. Then he'll revert to being precisely the same flaming bastard he was before."

Remembering the way the hotel desk clerk had looked at her, then back at Max, before reluctantly handing over a key, she knew her husband was right. Only fear of the lethal-looking gunman had kept the clerk from refusing to allow her a bed in his establishment. "Hatred of red people is deeply ingrained in whites. At times, I wonder if that will ever change," she said pensively.

"Hatred of all people who are different from us is a peculiar gift of the white race," Max said bitterly.

Sky knew by the hard, distant expression on his face that he was recalling his life as a soldier...and the dark warriors he had killed in Africa. "That isn't entirely true. Many of my father's people fear and distrust those different from themselves. Within our village, my father became a great chief, but at gatherings of the Sioux Nations, there were others who hated him for his white blood."

Max nodded. "Your family has been torn between two worlds all of your life." He could not help wondering if part of her attraction to Father Brewster had been his willingness to be a bridge between red and white for her. Would she ever speak of him once Deuce was dead? He vowed not to let the priest's ghost haunt their marriage. Sky belonged to him now and he would never let her go.

But when are you going to tell her about that damned codicil? The thought popped up suddenly, and he realized he'd pushed it to the back of his mind. Sooner or later he should share that devious provision of Harry's will with her, but if he did, would she ever believe he really loved her for herself alone?

The old Cheyenne interrupted his troubling reverie. "The Powers did not intend for people to hate. No tribe, red or white, lives in peace. We all have much to learn." As he spoke, his penetrating gaze moved from Max to Sky, as if reading what lay inside their hearts.

He knew them better than they knew themselves.

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