Her mother tried to make light of each move, make it seem like an adventure instead of the flight for their lives that Flower now knew the moves had been. Even her mother couldn't protect her and Rain from seeing what happened during that last, horrible battle, though, the one that would forever be etched in Flower's mind.

  The terrible cloud of gun smoke hanging over the tepees when Flower looked back from the top of a hill after her mother grabbed her and Rain and made their escape as the bluecoats thundered down on the tribe. Her father and the other warriors fighting ferociously against what they had to have known were overwhelming odds. Her father falling, being trampled...

  "There weren't very many of us who got away," Flower said. "Somehow Grandfather managed to escape, and he found us a couple of days later. He was the only man with us all that winter. It was just my mother, Rain and me, and two other women with their babies. Grandfather did the best he could, but we were always cold and hungry. Lots of times I remember my mother saying she really wasn't hungry and giving her food to Rain. He was so little—just five."

  Tess reached over and squeezed Flower's hand. How terrible it must have been. As poor as her family had been back in West Virginia, they never went hungry. Neighbors helped each other—shared both food and clothing. And she had never had to worry about someone chasing her, wanting her dead.

  Flower turned to her with a smile. "Even if I can't really forget that last year," she said, "I mostly try to remember the good times. You knew my mother was white, didn't you?"

  "No! I didn't know."

  "My father kidnapped her from a wagon train," Flower said with a sigh. "It was so romantic. He said he'd been watching her for days, and he just knew he had to have her for his wife. One night he just snuck into her wagon and took her—picked her up while she was sleeping beside her aunt and carried her back to his camp."

  "And your mother just went right along with this?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow.

  "Not at first." Flower giggled. "She woke up when my father was putting her on his horse and fought him like a wildcat. He showed Rain and me the scars my mother put on his neck and chest. He said they were worse scars than he ever got in any battle."

  "But she eventually fell in love with him?"

  "Uh-huh. And Pa was real mad at her when he showed up to rescue her. My mother told Pa that she was married and already carrying me. She said he was welcome to visit any time, but that she was staying with her husband."

  "Your pa? Stone? Why was he the one to come after your mother?"

  "Oh, Pa was madly in love with my mother, too," Flower explained. "Pa was the leader of the wagon train my mother was traveling on. That was before he started working as a sheriff. He couldn't come after my mother at first, since he had to make sure the wagon train got where it was headed safely.

  "But he hunted for her after that, and rode right into the Indian camp when he found out where she was. My mother said the only reason the warriors didn't shoot Pa on sight was because they admired his bravery for riding straight into camp. Or maybe at first they thought Pa was touched in the head, and the Indians never bother a person they think is crazy."

  "What... what was your mother's name, Flower?"

  "Cherokees never speak the name of the dead, Tess. I can only call them my mother and father."

  "Oh."

  "You look sort of like my mother, you know. She had the same color hair and eyes. I guess that's why I liked you so much when I saw you the first time—you reminded me a little of her."

  "Oh," she said again, unable to think of another comment.

  "What did your mother die of?" Flower asked.

  "Uh... pneumonia. Granny told me that people didn't usually die of that, but Mother had smoked most of her life and had damaged her lungs."

  "Is pneumonia some kind of disease that gets into your lungs?"

  "Yes. Well, I don't know if it's a disease so much as a virus or infection."

  "My mother must have died of that, too. She had so much trouble breathing, and she was so weak. Grandfather said he tried to drive the evil spirits out of her chest, but they were too strong. She didn't smoke, though. The only ones who smoked in our tribe were the warriors."

  "I guess Stone must have come to visit you over the years?" she said, her inflection turning the comment into a question.

  "Uh-huh. And just before my mother died, she begged Grandfather to get word to Pa and ask him to take Rain and me. You should've seen Pa when he came, Tess. He acted like he was scared to death of me and Rain. He told me once that he really was scared, too, scareder than he'd ever been in his life. He said it was one thing to just come visit us, but something different when he looked at us and realized he was going to be responsible for raising us."

  Flower shifted to her side and propped her head on her hand, her shining black hair spilling over her shoulder.

  "Pa said we looked like a couple of ragamuffins. We had dirty faces and bare feet. It took Pa hours to get my hair clean and the tangles out of it, but he said he was bound and be darned he wasn't going to cut it. What I remember most about when Pa came that time was looking up and up at him, 'cause I was still pretty small, too. I wasn't scared, though. I just felt safe, and it was a good feeling after the awful winter we'd just been through."

  "Stone's done a wonderful job with you kids."

  "He's a real good pa," Flower agreed. "I'll never forget my real father, but I love Pa an awful lot."

  Me, too, Tess agreed in her mind. But she couldn't help it when the thought continued, asking how much of Stone's love for her was due to her similarity to his old love.

  Stone must have loved Flower's mother desperately to risk his life by riding into an Indian camp alone. And he would have been devastated when she told him that she loved another man.

  Tess glanced at Flower to see her head pillowed on her arms and her eyes closed. Flower's even breathing told her the child was asleep, and she studied Flower's face.

  Under a few traces of baby fat yet, the promise of a heartrending beauty came through. Stone would have his hands full beating off suitors when Flower was ready for dating. Tess could only guess how much of Flower's beauty came from her mother.

  Grimacing in distaste at her jealousy for a dead woman, which she couldn't quite wipe from her mind, she leaned back and closed her eyes. And hadn't that horrid Tillie Peterson said something about Stone and one of the neighbor women? Maybe she had been referring to that Widow Brown.

  Well, what the heck did she expect? A wonderful man like Stone would have no trouble finding a woman with whom to share his life. The strange thing was that he was still unmarried. If she left, he probably wouldn't have any problem finding a willing female to console him.

  Maybe Stone wouldn't need consoling. After all, he'd as much as told her that he wasn't going to let himself fall in love with her. Care for her—yes—but love had to be out of the question—for both of them.

  She closed her eyes. An ember popped in the dying fire and a faint whiff of smoke curled around her nose. An infinitesimal niggle of home sickness tugged at her as she recalled the many nights she had spent camping on one of her backpacking trips. After analyzing the feeling for a moment, she realized it wasn't nostalgia for home. Instead, she found herself storing up the memory of this day to brush off later in her mind.

  The soft sound of lake waves lapping the shore—the smell of fresh air, mingled with a hint of smoke. She could even smell the grass near her nose, and she imagined she could hear the trees growing. A twig snapped as though stretching its bark.

  Lonesome leapt to his feet, a warning growl in his throat, and her eyes flew open. She stared directly into the wrinkled face of a man squatting a few feet from Flower.

  A scream built in her throat.

  Seventeen

  The Indian man raised a finger to his lips and shook his head. Lonesome's tail started wagging, and Tess glanced at the dog, cutting off the scream in mid-whoosh. Lonesome sat on his haunches and raised a paw, and immediately her fear left her. She sat up and glared at the Indian.

  "You shouldn't sneak up on people," she whispered, loath to disturb Flower's nap. "I might have shot you."

  The man grinned at her, his face creasing into a thousand more wrinkles. "She is my granddaughter." He nodded his head at Flower. "And you should not leave your gun on your saddle if you plan to shoot at someone."

  He rose to his feet and moved to the other side of the fire. Lonesome followed him and repeated his gesture of friendship. The man solemnly shook the proffered paw, then sat down and motioned for Tess to join him.

  She saw him eyeing her jeans as she got to her feet with the help of her crutches and swung over beside him. One of the crutch tips sank into the soft sand, and she wobbled slightly, but the man made no move to get to his feet and help steady her. Instead, surprisingly, she caught her balance at once, almost as though she could feel his hands on her.

  She sank down beside him and saw him staring overhead. She twisted her neck to follow his gaze, but only an eagle drifting on the wind drafts in the clear sky with its scattered clouds caught her eye.

  "What are you looking at?" she asked. "The eagle?"

  "No," he replied. Instead of offering any further explanation, he looked back at her and said, "You have come far—from a time far away."

  He knows. The thought flashed through her mind almost as though the Indian had spoken it to her.

  "You're Silver Eagle," she said eagerly. "Rain told me you're a shaman. Shamans are supposed to have magical powers and be able to communicate with the supernatural. Please tell me what's happening to me—what I should decide."

  "Do you truly believe that a shaman can do this?"

  "Well, no," she admitted. "But..."

  "Then you must work on your belief before we can talk," Silver Eagle said with a wry smile. "The true belief is part of what you think is the magic."

  "Darn it! How can I work on believing in something if I don't know what it is I'm supposed to believe in?"

  "That is part of what you must learn, too."

  "Now just a blasted minute. You're sitting there telling me that I have to learn to believe in something that you're not prepared to discuss with me until I believe in it? Just how the heck is that supposed to work?"

  Silver Eagle threw back his head and laughed, a sound like dry leaves rustling in the fall. When he looked back at her, he said, "You have begun to learn when you start asking the questions. When the answers start coming to you, it will be the time for us to talk."

  "That makes about as much sense as a riddle in a fairy tale!"

  "I have heard of these fairy tales from Mountain Flower. She reads them and tells them to the other children when she comes to visit us. Does not the meaning of the riddle always make itself known at the end of the tale?"

  "Well, yes. But that doesn't make it any easier to understand right now—or the decision I have to make any easier."

  "Grandfather!" Flower scrambled to her feet and ran to the old man. Throwing herself into his arms, she hugged him tightly and then kissed his cheek. When she stepped back Silver Eagle quirked his eyebrow at her attire, and Flower giggled at him.

  "When I visit, I'm going to tell all the Indian women how much more comfortable pants are, Grandfather," she warned. "You men have kept that a secret from us for too long."

  "If you want, Granddaughter," he said with a nonchalant shrug. "But I remember how I used to like seeing a glimpse of your grandmother's leg now and then when she danced at the feasts. I would think young men now would enjoy this, too. I saw Wolf Hunter watching Sunflower last month, when we celebrated the marriage of Leaping Horse and Soaring Bird. Sunflower's dress had many long fringes, which sounded pleasant when they swished around her legs."

  "You old rascal," Tess whispered under her breath when Flower glanced down at her jeans, a worried frown on her face.

  "Wolf Hunter," Flower said in a tentative voice. "Has he... is he going to offer a lot of horses for Sunflower?"

  "I don't think so," Silver Eagle said. "Once two summers ago Wolf Hunter told me that he might wait as long as ten more years before he took a wife. But I suppose he could change his mind."

  "The last time I visited," Flower said in a quiet voice, "Wolf Hunter told me he was thinking of going to one of the white man's schools back East. He said he thought maybe he could help our people when he came back."

  "Yes, he has spoken of that, too," Silver Eagle agreed. "Now, are you going to offer me something to eat? I have traveled far to see you, Granddaughter, with thoughts of the sweets you make riding with me."

  "Oh, of course, Grandfather!"

  Flower hurried over to the remains of their meal, and soon Silver Eagle had finished two ham sandwiches and the rest of the angel food cake. He started on the last half of the apple pie as Flower poured two glasses of elderberry wine and handed one to him and the other to Tess.

  Tess sipped at her wine, studying the old Indian as he finished the pie and held out his glass for a refill. Even at the Indian's advanced age she could see a trace of Rain's features. The eyes, surrounded by deep sun wrinkles, reminded her of Rain's brown-eyed gaze when she'd first met him on the hill. They shared the same chin and high cheekbones, but Silver Eagle's nose was a little wider. Rain and Flower both must have inherited either their mother's or grandmother's nose.

  Silver Eagle wore a combination of white man's and Indian clothing—a cotton shirt, buckskin trousers, and moccasins. A leather headband held back his graying hair, and the beaded belt at his waist carried two pouches, holding a tomahawk and a knife, as well as a holstered pistol.

  "Do you want some more wine, Tess?" Flower asked.

  She looked down, surprised to find her glass empty. "No, I don't think so, Flower. We'd better get started back, so we can do the evening chores. That is, if you're finished, Silver Eagle."

  "You're coming back with us, aren't you, Grandfather?" Flower asked. "Rain and Pa should be back in a couple of days, and they'll want to see you."

  Silver Eagle nodded and gave a huge belch.

  "Excuse you," Tess murmured automatically.

  "Oh, Tess," Flower said with a laugh, "Grandfather's just showing us how much he enjoyed the food. It's not bad manners in Indian society to belch, like it is in white."

  Tess flushed with embarrassment, but Silver Eagle smiled serenely at her and gave another burp.

  "Dash nab it, Angie!" Michael shouted. "If they don't get moving, I'm going down there and give them a push! Stone needs their help right now!"

  "Rain's scared to death," Angela agreed frantically. "What should we do?"

  Michael stared overhead and raised his arm. Loud claps of thunder immediately filled the air.

  "It's working," Angela said, relief in her voice. "Look."

  Michael glanced down and smiled grimly when he saw Tess and Flower hastily gathering up their picnic items. Silver Eagle hurried over to catch the horses, pausing once to glance up at the sky. Michael waved his arm again, and the gray clouds darkened.

  "Move it!" Michael ordered. "I just hope you're not too late."

  Tess grabbed her crutches and hobbled toward Silver Eagle as he swung the saddle onto her mare. As soon as the cinch was tight, he cupped his hands to help her into her saddle and then mounted his pinto. Flower was already on her way, and when another rumble of thunder sounded, Tess urged her mount into a gallop, hoping they could reach the shelter of the ranch before the rain hit.

  It still took them over half an hour to make the ride, and the horses were blowing through their foam-flecked nostrils when they galloped into the ranch yard. The kitchen screen door flew open and Rain yelled frantically.

  "Where've you been? Hurry! Pa's been snake bit and I think he's dying!"

  "Oh, my God! Please, no!" Tess slid from her saddle without assistance and jerked frantically at the knots on the thongs holding her crutches. The rawhide pulled tighter, and she shot Silver Eagle a grateful glance when he reached over her shoulders and untied the crutches. Jamming them under her arms, she levered herself toward the house, where Rain and Flower had already disappeared inside.

  "Please, my darling. Please don't let me be too late," she whispered in a terror-laced voice as she climbed the steps and opened the door. She swung through the kitchen and down the hallway, figuring that Stone would be in his own bedroom.

  At the open bedroom door, she came to a dead halt. Stone lay on the bed, his leg swollen and ugly and his face as gray as death. Flower and Rain turned tear-streaked faces up to her.

  "It happened yesterday," Rain sobbed. "We rode all night to get back here, but I think it's too late. Pa just now stopped breathing, Tess!"

  Eighteen

  Face is pale, raise the tail.

  The axiom flashed across Tess's mind, and she flew into action. Almost throwing herself across the room, she landed on her knees on the bed, ordering Flower to pile pillows under Stone's legs to raise them.

  Pressing the heel of her hand on his breastbone without even checking to see if he really wasn't breathing, she began CPR. After five sharp thrusts she leaned over him and filled his lungs with her breath. She repeated the sequence three times before her panic receded and she could think more clearly. Pausing for a second, her hand ready to thrust again on his breastbone, she forced herself to focus on his face.

  Beneath her hand, she felt a slight movement—very slight, but she leaned down and a soft, bare hint of air feathered on her cheek. Then he took a stronger breath, and moaned in her ear.

  She drew back, elated to see a touch of color returning to his gray cheeks, although his eyes remained closed.

  Shock. Frantically she searched the recesses of her mind for everything she had learned in the first-aid/CPR class she had taken so long ago.