Badlands Bride

“He’s working.”

“I only want a word with him.”

“He won’t like it.”

“I can deal with that, thank you.”

The boy snorted and stood.

Hallie nodded politely as a means of excusing herself from the table, and followed Yellow Eagle from the sod house and toward the freight building. Leading her around the side, where the sound of wood being stacked echoed, he stopped and pointed, a smirk on his youthful face.

Three bare-chested men were unloading the back of an enormous flatbed wagon. Hallie had never seen so much skin in her life! She stumbled over a clump of grass and caught her balance.

Two more wagons stood to the east of the building, bulging tarps evidence of similar loads. Two of the men, whom Hallie had never seen before, noticed her, and stopped their work to stare back, pushing their sweat-stained hats back on their heads.

The third, Cooper DeWitt, pulled a stack of lumber forward, the muscles in his broad back and shoulders flexing beneath the sun-burnished skin. When neither man picked up the other end, he became aware of their distraction and turned to the cause, studying her from beneath the brim of his hat.

A queer enchantment held Hallie motionless. It was impossible not to look. The morning sun gave his chest and shoulders a warm glow. The wind caught the thick blond rope of hair hanging down his back, and it fluttered like the tail of a wild horse.

He came to life, gave the others an aggravated glance and shoved the boards back into the stack. Speaking curtly to the men, he turned and walked toward her. Hallie made up her mind not to stare at his shocking display of flesh and muscle. He made a rapid series of gestures. Yellow Eagle replied, gave Hallie a smug grin and ran back toward the soddy.

Hallie watched his approach, appreciation and apprehension tumbling in her stomach. Determinedly, she thought of the kind Indian woman making him a shirt, and annoyance won out. “I need to speak with you.”

“Stay near the house,” he said, ignoring her request.

She kept her eyes on his face. “I am near the house.”

“I mean, you shouldn’t come here.”

“Why not?”

“The house is safer.”

His words managed to take off some of her cheekiness. She glanced around. “Do the grizzlies come around in the daytime?”

“Animals aren’t the only danger.”

Her attention wanted to flutter downward, but she steadfastly stared into his eyes. “What do you mean?”

He set his jaw, accenting his generous lips and square chin. “Men come and go here all the time.”

“I was raised around men, Mr. DeWitt. I’m not intimidated.” All the men she’d been raised around were gentlemen and kept their shirts on, but she wasn’t going to point that out.

“The men in these parts don’t see many women. Especially not young, pretty ones.”

She couldn’t help the flush that rose in her cheeks. He thought she was pretty? Hallie had to remind herself why she’d come out here. “I need to speak with you.”

“I’ll see you at mealtime.”

“This is important.”

“I have work to do. I’ll see you at noon.”

“What do you expect me to do until then?”

His assessing blue eyes flicked over her hair and face. “What did you plan to do when you came here?”

“I planned to get a story!”

“Then write a story.” He turned and walked away.

Hallie’s gaze dropped from his broad back to his narrow waist. She didn’t let herself take note of the muscles beneath his buff-colored, fringed trousers.

Frustrated, she turned back toward the house. Boston Girl Dies Of Boredom, she thought humorlessly. Chumani was working beside a fire pit, so Hallie sauntered back to watch her. The top of a good-sized cylinder of tree trunk had been hollowed into a bowl shape. Chumani placed damp kernels of corn in the well and pounded them with a wooden beater.

Before Hallie’s eyes, the corn was ground into meal. “That’s amazing!”

Chumani glanced up from her work and smiled.

“I’ve never seen anything like this before. At home we shop for meal and flour at the mercantile. It’s all sewn into bags when we get it.”

The black-haired woman nodded and pounded.

Hallie sat on a nearby stump and watched. She ignored the echoing sound of lumber being stacked. The Indian woman really was pretty. Her black hair caught highlights in the sun and black lashes and brows complemented her sleek brown skin. She moved and worked with grace and confidence.

Hallie could see how she would appeal to a man. Besides her unassuming beauty, she was hardworking and quiet. Was that the kind of woman Cooper thought he would get from the city, too? What kind of woman would submissively sit by and allow him to dally with another woman? The thought got her hackles up again.

Hallie glanced at the pot bubbling over the fire and the rustic tools gathered nearby. Chumani had been working on this earlier, and had apparently joined Hallie inside while she ate, as a courtesy.

Yellow Eagle brought firewood, stacked it a safe distance from the cookfire and disappeared.

Growing restless after an interminable length of time, Hallie asked, “Can I help?”

Chumani tilted her head.

Hallie pointed to herself. “Me. Help?”

She made a useless gesture of busy hands, but Chumani seemed to understand. She led her to the pot over the fire where corn bubbled in blackish water. Demonstrating, she carried a wooden scoopful of corn to a piece of burlap stretched between four sticks stuck in the ground, and poured the corn onto the fabric. Next, she took a dipper of fresh water from a bucket and poured it over the kernels. The water rinsed the corn and ran through the burlap.

She handed Hallie the scoop.

“I understand,” Hallie said, grateful for a task to keep her hands and mind busy. “Rinse the corn. I can do that.” Energetically, she set about the task. After several scoops of corn, she raised the bucket. “Water’s gone.”

Chumani nodded.

Hallie studied her.

The woman pointed at the pail, at another one nearby, then behind the soddies.