The Cowboy Father & Frontier Father by Linda Ford

Author:Linda Ford
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2020-07-08T17:45:34+00:00

Chapter Four

The Indians raced toward them, the horses’ hoofs thudding louder and louder.

“Stand still and stay quiet, Anne. No flinching or screaming...or swooning.”

Anne drew her cloak closed and glanced up. Obviously, her actions around his daughter had caused Mitchel Banning to hold her in low esteem. “I’m not given to hysterics, Mitchel.”

“Good. Because these Indians are testing our courage—bravery wins their respect, fear earns their contempt.” He looked down at her. “I’ll do the talking.” She nodded, squared her shoulders as he turned his attention to the Indians who jerked their horses to a halt mere inches in front of them. “I bid my Cayuse brothers welcome.”

The Indian in the middle grunted out a response. Mitchel nodded, replied in kind. Sunlight glinted off the hafts of the knives thrust into leather cases at the Indians’ waists and glowed against the heads of the tomahawks suspended from long loops that dangled the handles against their legs as they slid from their horses.

Anne looked away, focused her attention on their mounts. The poor, gaunt beasts were ungroomed, their manes and tails dirty and matted. They looked—

The Indian closest to her stepped forward, his moccasins whispering against the packed dirt of the path, the long fringe on his buckskin pants swaying. He stopped, stood like a statue before her, his leather-bound braids resting against his bare chest, his piercing black eyes staring at her.

Indians are quite taken by blond or red hair. Her heart lurched. Were there any curls dangling on her forehead? Her fingers itched to reach up and check.

Mitchel looked at the brave, spoke.

The Indian grunted a reply, stepped closer.

His interest sent alarm tingling along her nerves. Don’t show fear! She stood perfectly still, not allowing herself to inch toward the suddenly comforting presence of Mitchel Banning. The Indian walked around her, came back and stood staring at her. She lifted her chin and stared straight ahead.

A string of guttural words issued from the brave. From the corner of her eye she saw Mitchel nod, watched his eyes darken as the brave spewed forth another string of words and jabbed a dirty finger her direction then held his hand toward Mitchel, palm out, fingers spread. She stiffened, held her breath, wishing she could understand what was being said. Mitchel shook his head, grunted out an answer, then turned to her. “Go into the house, Anne. Tell Sighing Wind these braves want food.”

She looked into his hazel eyes, read a silent “do as I say” message and turned and walked down the path toward the door she had entered on her arrival. She kept her pace normal, ignoring the impulse to look back over her shoulder. The squeak of the door hinge was comforting. She stepped inside, closed the door and expelled a long breath. She hadn’t cared for the look in that Indian’s eyes. And Mitchel had not cared for what the Indian had said. It was about her. Of that she was certain. There was no mistaking the intent of that dirty, pointing finger.

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