Sun Woman

* * *

The sky was crimson with the rising of the sun. Gib settled the hat on his head and gingerly touched the spot on his chin where he’d cut himself with the razor this morning. Swinging off the barracks steps, he headed for the scout area. The mountains to the north were dark, rugged shapes carved with deep ravines. Juniper and piñon clung to the lower reaches of the slopes like a scraggly green skirt above the sandy-yellow reaches of the desert floor.

Sentries on horseback rode slowly around the huge rectangular area that comprised the buildings and grounds of the fort. As he passed the bustling laundry facilities, he saw Poppy and waved.

“Sergeant McCoy, come over here!” she called out in her booming voice.

Gib smiled and changed direction. As he approached she wrung out a shirt and handed it to her daughter, Nettie, to rinse.

“Why, you look fit as a fiddle this morning, Sergeant McCoy.”

Tipping his hat, Gib halted at the front of the huge tent, now open to the breeze. “Thanks, Poppy. Looks like you’re hard at work.” Most of the laundresses washed from dawn until noon, and then pressed and folded the clothes throughout the hottest part of the day.

Poppy’s hair was wrapped in a bright blue turban, and sweat streaked her face. “Word’s flying around here that the army hired a woman Apache scout.”

Nettie looked up from her tub. The girl’s hair hung in two neat pigtails and she was rail-thin compared to her mother. “I saw her, Sergeant McCoy, yesterday when I took some clothes back to the enlisted barracks.” Her eyes grew merry. “She’s a purty thing, ain’t she? I never knew Apaches to have gold-colored eyes.”

“Some do,” Gib said.

“Lordy me,” Poppy gushed, “what’s this gonna do to the post? Why, I heard from Clarissa, that Miz Melissa is livid about this woman being here. Is that so?”

Gib kept his face neutral. The laundresses were a gossipy bunch. Anytime he wanted to know what was really going on at the post, he came to Poppy. He wasn’t surprised Melissa Polk was throwing a fit over Kuchana’s presence. Melissa was jealous, that was all; Kuchana was a hell of a lot prettier than the snobbish banker’s daughter.

“Ladies, you know I don’t have much to do with the officers or their wives. I’m afraid you’re asking the wrong person.”

Poppy pushed her lips together, eyeing him with laughter in her eyes. “You’re a wolf among sheep, Sergeant McCoy.” She made a jab with one thick finger toward the officer’s quarters in the distance. “And they all know it, too. You might be wearing sergeant’s stripes, but the men of the Fourth trust you.”

That was part of the problem, Gib thought. He hadn’t let color dissuade him from becoming a protective buffer between the men of the Fourth and the likes of Lieutenant Carter. “Poppy, have you got a couple of cups of coffee hidden somewhere in that tent of yours?” She always had some forbidden officers’ supplies stashed away.

She grinned, placing her hands on her ample hips. “Two cups, Sergeant? Usually, you only want one. By any chance, you heading for the scout tents?”

Gib rubbed his jaw. “Can’t fool you, can I, Poppy?” The laundress didn’t miss much, but then, Poppy could be trusted with knowing things like this and keeping it secret.

Cackling, Poppy asked Nettie to fetch the coffee. “Ain’t like you to take the scouts coffee. They know they can come here and get it from me.”

“The second cup is for Kuchana,” he said, trying hard not to smile.

“I thought so.”

“Mind if I bring her over here and introduce her to you ladies later? I think she could use some friends.”

Nettie handed Gib the tin cups filled with steaming coffee and clapped her palms together. “Oh, would you? Why, Clarissa is just dying to get a look at her.”

“Ladies, she needs some friends, not curiosity seekers.” Gib held Poppy’s knowing gaze. “Kuchana isn’t liked by the scouts because she’s Chiricahua. And I know the officers’ wives will snub her.”

“Just stop your worrying, Sergeant McCoy. You send that purty little thing over here and we’ll take good care of her.” Poppy beamed. “She’s scrawny…”

Gib nodded grimly. “Yeah, she hasn’t had enough to eat for a long time.”

“Well, you just never mind, Poppy will fix her up. I’ll take care of that poor chile. She’ll be a part of our family, just like you are, Sergeant McCoy.”

“Thanks, it means a lot to me.”

The laundress grinned. “I know it does. I can see she’s something special to you.”

Gib nodded and turned away, heading for the scout area. The scouts on duty that day were usually up by this time, working on their weapons. Today, it was Two Toes and Jemez who had the duty.

Chee had assigned the last tent nearest the horse line to Kuchana. Gib came to a halt at the head of the tent where the flap had been drawn aside and saw that Kuchana was still soundly asleep, clutching a fist-size rock.

It bothered him that she felt she had to have some kind of weapon to protect herself even here, but he couldn’t blame her. The Yavapai hated the Apache and had a reputation for slitting the throats of their enemy under the cover of darkness.

As he crouched down, Gib eyed Kuchana’s sleeping features. Her flesh wasn’t as taut, and there was some color in her cheeks. Her thick, black hair, no longer bound by the cotton headband, lay about her shoulders like a blanket. She reminded him of a finely bred horse—lean, proud and delicate. Her lips were parted in sleep, and he wondered what it would be like to kiss her, to explore the texture of her mouth beneath his.

Chee had issued her only one blanket, and he frowned, knowing she should have been given at least three. Kuchana had placed the blanket on the ground and curled up in a fetal position to remain warm during the cool night. Today, he would make sure she was issued a full billet.

He was about to awaken Kuchana when he saw tears bead and form on her lashes. Putting the mugs aside, he reached down and gave her shoulder a shake.

Kuchana hissed, jerking upright, rock poised in hand. Her eyes widened when she realized it was McCoy. “I—I’m sorry,” she rasped, her voice thick with sleep. She dropped the rock. Tears trailed down her cheeks and she tried to wipe them away before the sergeant saw them.

“Hold on,” he ordered quietly. “What’s the reason for the tears?”

Embarrassed, Kuchana kept her eyes on the ground between them. “It was a dream.”

Gib took one of the cups and handed it to her. “Here’s some chicory coffee. Go on, take it.” The high color in her cheeks told him that she was shamed by her tears. Gib picked up the second cup and sipped the liquid, remaining in his crouched position.

Chicory coffee was a rare treat for Kuchana. She managed a nod of thanks, holding the cup with both hands. Why hadn’t she heard the sergeant approach? Had her sleep been so profound that Two Toes could have sneaked into her tent and killed her? Usually, her sleep was light and watchful.

“Looks like you were sleeping hard,” Gib said conversationally. He had an urge to reach out and tunnel his fingers through her shining ebony hair.

“Too hard,” she muttered unhappily, drinking the coffee with relish.

“You were tired.” Tired from months of running, he thought. The army and the Mexican soldatos had been pursuing Geronimo and his people without rest for nearly six months. And Kuchana was proof of that.

“It is no excuse. I should not sleep like that. It could get me killed.” In the distance Kuchana heard the soft snort of horses, the clank of bits, the creak of saddles. A number of soldiers were up and about performing their daily duties. Chee and one of the other scouts came up to the horse line, saddling their mounts. There wasn’t much to like about Chee, Kuchana had decided. He was a swaggering, bragging male, more wind than courage, in her estimation. Chee was not a warrior. In fact, none of the scouts wore the third braid.

The tears were drying on her cheeks, and Gib searched for a way to find out more about their cause. “You said there wasn’t much of your family left since Geronimo escaped the reservation.”

A pain stabbed deeply into her heart at his words, and Kuchana bowed her head. “I have only one sister left.” The words came out low and strained.

“Was that what you were dreaming about?”

The question was gently put, and Kuchana lifted her chin, holding his gaze. McCoy had harsh features, but he was truly sensitive to others’ feelings. “I…it was of her daughter that I dreamed.”

“Oh?”

“Her daughter went to the Big Sleep just before I left.”

“And that’s the reason you came here?”