A Yellowstone Christmas (Yellowstone Romance Series (Christmas Novella)) by Peggy L Henderson

Author:Peggy L Henderson [Henderson, Peggy L]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2012-11-19T11:00:00+00:00

Chapter 7

Aimee raised the rifle in her hand, aiming it toward the men who barged into her home. A forceful blast of icy air hit her in the face. Not all of the warriors had crossed the threshold into the cabin, and the door stood wide open. The first two Blackfoot warriors stopped when they spotted her by the hearth. Momentary surprise flashed in their eyes, then they leered at her. The first man, tall and wide-chested, stepped toward her with long strides. There was only one shot in her flintlock. It would be futile to even try and shoot him. The other three would kill her before he hit the ground.

With a pounding heart, Aimee lowered her weapon, and held her hand out in front of her. As long as her children remained quiet and were safe, she’d do whatever these men wanted. The tall warrior yanked the weapon from her hand and tossed it to the ground. The rifle slid across the wooden floor, and hit her bedroom door with a dull thud. The warrior grabbed her forcefully by the upper arm, his teeth bared as he sneered at her. His eyes lingered on her hair.

“Take whatever food you want,” Aimee said in Shoshone. She glared at the man, refusing to cower before him, even as her heart beat wildly in her chest. She doubted these Indians even understood what she’d said. In the back of her mind, she made a mental note to tell Daniel to teach her some useful words in the Blackfoot language. I might not live long enough to need to know any.

The Indian pulled her away from the hearth and toward the center of the room. The rest of the men filed into the cabin, leaving the door open. Aimee shivered from the cold air that hit her. Her cotton shirt wasn’t enough to keep out the frigid winter air. Her captor spoke in quick, harsh tones, and Aimee simply shook her head. She didn’t understand what he was asking. He made a jerky sweeping motion with his free hand, and gestured with his chin at his companions. The three rummaged through her sacks of supplies stacked under the workbench, and one opened the door to her bedroom. The other two spotted her bare Christmas tree standing by the window, and their foreheads wrinkled in puzzlement.

“You’d better leave my tree alone,” Aimee said under her breath in English, and her eyes narrowed on the intruders. The man who had a hold of her arm, his fingers biting painfully into her skin, shot her a bemused look and cocked his head to the side. He obviously realized she wasn’t speaking in an Indian dialect. Suddenly he shook her forcefully, and shouted at her. Aimee squirmed to free her arm, but knew her efforts would be futile.

The second bedroom door opened suddenly, and Kimana emerged, her infant in her arm.

“Kimana,” Aimee’s captor shouted, his eyes suddenly wide with surprise. He released her, and rushed to the girl standing silently in the doorframe of the bedroom.

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