Read Online Capture the Sun (Cheyenne Series) by Shirl Henke - Free Book Online
Authors: Shirl Henke
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her aching brain. She must somehow get Noah to tell her the truth. What else lay hidden in his past?
* * * *
The first dinner in her new home provided more answers than Carrie wanted to hear. At quarter to seven she walked into the parlor expecting to find Noah waiting to escort her to the table. Instead she found Hawk brooding by the open window. He turned abruptly, sensing her presence with a savage's instinct, no doubt, since she had entered very silently. While he looked her over, he posed indolently, leaning one long arm against the mantel, a drink in his hand.
“Very fetching. Redheads always look good in yellow. Soft and warm, like butter 'n' honey.” His words were soft and faintly suggestive, but his black eyes were what really alarmed her. He looked at her like a critical predator, debating whether or not the prey was worth the effort of swooping down to snatch it. Carrie had taken special care with her toilette. She chose a simple but chic dress of deep yellow silk. Tailored in straight lines, it accentuated her coloring and flattered her height.
Indeed, she noticed how very tall Hawk was, even more so than Noah, who stood at six feet. Hawk appeared to be several inches taller, making her five-foot-seven-inch frame seem tiny by comparison. She was used to looking men eye to eye and didn't like being at such a disadvantage.
Hawk had bathed and shaved, and was dressed differently than before. No guns or knives were visible on his person. However, in spite of his crisp linen shirt opened at the throat, well-tailored gray suit and gleaming boots, he still looked dark and dangerous. Oddly, she felt a thrill of perverse fascination when she looked at him.
“Are you always so quiet, or is it just my presence that freezes up that pretty little tongue?” Those relentless eyes continued to skewer her.
She blushed. “I—I just don't know how to respond to you, er, Mr. Sinclair. You see, until I arrived here, I never even knew you existed.”
He barked a sharp laugh, and then his face lost all traces of humor. “I just bet you didn't! Most western men who go east seem to conveniently forget their half-breed relatives in polite society. I ought to know. I spent a good part of the past decade in eastern schools being a curiosity. Ever seen an ‘Indian’ before, Carrie?” He used her given name like a taunt, as if he was aware of her uncertainty about how to address him and taking advantage of the fact.
Carrie was on unsure footing, but highly indignant at his hostility. She couldn't help it if she had never seen a savage before she came west! “I thought you were a Cheyenne, not ‘an Indian,’ Hawk.” Good. She plucked the name of his tribe from the recesses of her memory.
“So I am.” He raised his glass in salute, seeming to approve of her spunk and her use of his given name. “Red men are divided into many nations, as are the whites, who my mother's people call veho , which means spider in Cheyenne,” he added, baiting her.
Trying to change the topic of conversation, she asked, “You've spent a lot of time in eastern schools, you said. Where?”
“You mean I speak educated English without accent? I even know the rudiments of political science and geography? Quite a prodigy for a savage, but then consider that I was kicked out of at least three or four of the best schools in Massachusetts, not to mention leaving Yale in my sophomore year. Something about my background seems to upset easterners.” Black humor was reflected in his face as he spoke.
“Why are you so bitter? If your father sent you to such good schools, you had advantages most white children never have.” As soon as she spoke, she regretted it.
“Yes, white children—like my father expects you to give him, no doubt. For now, he can use me, or my guns at
* * * *
The first dinner in her new home provided more answers than Carrie wanted to hear. At quarter to seven she walked into the parlor expecting to find Noah waiting to escort her to the table. Instead she found Hawk brooding by the open window. He turned abruptly, sensing her presence with a savage's instinct, no doubt, since she had entered very silently. While he looked her over, he posed indolently, leaning one long arm against the mantel, a drink in his hand.
“Very fetching. Redheads always look good in yellow. Soft and warm, like butter 'n' honey.” His words were soft and faintly suggestive, but his black eyes were what really alarmed her. He looked at her like a critical predator, debating whether or not the prey was worth the effort of swooping down to snatch it. Carrie had taken special care with her toilette. She chose a simple but chic dress of deep yellow silk. Tailored in straight lines, it accentuated her coloring and flattered her height.
Indeed, she noticed how very tall Hawk was, even more so than Noah, who stood at six feet. Hawk appeared to be several inches taller, making her five-foot-seven-inch frame seem tiny by comparison. She was used to looking men eye to eye and didn't like being at such a disadvantage.
Hawk had bathed and shaved, and was dressed differently than before. No guns or knives were visible on his person. However, in spite of his crisp linen shirt opened at the throat, well-tailored gray suit and gleaming boots, he still looked dark and dangerous. Oddly, she felt a thrill of perverse fascination when she looked at him.
“Are you always so quiet, or is it just my presence that freezes up that pretty little tongue?” Those relentless eyes continued to skewer her.
She blushed. “I—I just don't know how to respond to you, er, Mr. Sinclair. You see, until I arrived here, I never even knew you existed.”
He barked a sharp laugh, and then his face lost all traces of humor. “I just bet you didn't! Most western men who go east seem to conveniently forget their half-breed relatives in polite society. I ought to know. I spent a good part of the past decade in eastern schools being a curiosity. Ever seen an ‘Indian’ before, Carrie?” He used her given name like a taunt, as if he was aware of her uncertainty about how to address him and taking advantage of the fact.
Carrie was on unsure footing, but highly indignant at his hostility. She couldn't help it if she had never seen a savage before she came west! “I thought you were a Cheyenne, not ‘an Indian,’ Hawk.” Good. She plucked the name of his tribe from the recesses of her memory.
“So I am.” He raised his glass in salute, seeming to approve of her spunk and her use of his given name. “Red men are divided into many nations, as are the whites, who my mother's people call veho , which means spider in Cheyenne,” he added, baiting her.
Trying to change the topic of conversation, she asked, “You've spent a lot of time in eastern schools, you said. Where?”
“You mean I speak educated English without accent? I even know the rudiments of political science and geography? Quite a prodigy for a savage, but then consider that I was kicked out of at least three or four of the best schools in Massachusetts, not to mention leaving Yale in my sophomore year. Something about my background seems to upset easterners.” Black humor was reflected in his face as he spoke.
“Why are you so bitter? If your father sent you to such good schools, you had advantages most white children never have.” As soon as she spoke, she regretted it.
“Yes, white children—like my father expects you to give him, no doubt. For now, he can use me, or my guns at
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