Read Online Capture the Sun (Cheyenne Series) by Shirl Henke - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Shirl Henke
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least, but I'm only half white, and that's not good enough to inherit all this.” He let his hand sweep the opulent room in a dismissing, scornful gesture.
Carrie was saved from responding to that impossible statement by Noah's entrance.
“It's time for dinner, Carrie, Hawk.” His eyes swept from her to his son and back, sensing that some exchange of hostility had just transpired between them. He dismissed it and took her pale hand on his arm, leading her to the dining room. When he felt her trembling, he smiled.
Carrie sat across from Hawk, and Noah took his place at the head of the imposing dark oak table, set with delicately patterned china, gleaming silver, and sparkling crystal. The meal was served by a dark-haired young maid. Carrie was amazed at its delicacy, a wine-sauced chicken dish with spicy ham and cheese in the center of the plump breasts. Crusty bread, fresh garden peas, and a delicate white wine accompanied the main course. Despite Carrie's appreciation of the cook's skill, however, she had too much on her mind to do the food justice.
Again and again through the course of the meal Carrie's gaze strayed to Hawk. It was as if she couldn't help herself. He was right; his table manners were impeccable. The slim dark fingers held delicate china cups and thin French crystal with careless ease. He had obviously inherited his Indian mother's love of jewelry. The rings on his hands glistened in the candlelight, and he had a silver medallion suspended on a rawhide thong around his neck. Intricately worked, made of many fine strands of silver interwoven into a star design, it nestled in the thick black hair of his chest like a softly winking star. She found herself wondering if he always wore it.
Unwillingly, her eyes traveled up to his face, where the strongly chiseled features looked almost satanic in the flickering candlelight. A splendid barbarian . Where had she read the phrase that popped suddenly into her mind?
He caught her staring, and his amused black eyes scorched her cheeks, turning them aflame with a humiliating girlish blush. Carrie had never felt so young and socially inept in her life.
Table conversation did not help ease her case of nerves. Noah opened the offensive, breaking the strained silence under which they'd begun the meal. “Why'd you come back? Things get too hot down in the Nations?”
Hawk picked up his knife and meticulously cut a small slice of the chicken breast before replying, “At least I arrived in better condition than last time. Aren't you grateful I'm not bleeding all over your Aubusson rugs?”
Carrie gasped in shock. “Bleeding?”
Noah cleared his throat in warning to her. Damn her childish curiosity. Grudgingly he said, “Last time my son arrived home more dead than alive. Shot in a gunfight.”
Hawk let out a harsh, low chuckle. “Yeah, Lola was furious with Kyle. When he dragged me in I ruined the carpet in the entry hall. Thoughtless of me to hemorrhage in such an inconvenient place.”
That was the second time Carrie had heard the name Lola. Who was Lola? Was she the former housekeeper? A sister?
Noah glared at his son with such intense hatred that Carrie thought it would shrivel any ordinary mortal. “Leave that tramp out of this conversation!”
Hawk looked unconcerned by the menacing posture of his father as he turned to Carrie. “Another skeleton in the closet. Poor girl, you really should check out a man's family connections as well as his bank account before marrying him.”
Carrie let out a little gasp of indignation, and Noah's face darkened.
Before either of them could say a word, Hawk continued. “Lola Jameson was the second Mrs. Sinclair.”
This time Carrie blanched.
“Ah, you didn't know you're number three? Well,
Carrie was saved from responding to that impossible statement by Noah's entrance.
“It's time for dinner, Carrie, Hawk.” His eyes swept from her to his son and back, sensing that some exchange of hostility had just transpired between them. He dismissed it and took her pale hand on his arm, leading her to the dining room. When he felt her trembling, he smiled.
Carrie sat across from Hawk, and Noah took his place at the head of the imposing dark oak table, set with delicately patterned china, gleaming silver, and sparkling crystal. The meal was served by a dark-haired young maid. Carrie was amazed at its delicacy, a wine-sauced chicken dish with spicy ham and cheese in the center of the plump breasts. Crusty bread, fresh garden peas, and a delicate white wine accompanied the main course. Despite Carrie's appreciation of the cook's skill, however, she had too much on her mind to do the food justice.
Again and again through the course of the meal Carrie's gaze strayed to Hawk. It was as if she couldn't help herself. He was right; his table manners were impeccable. The slim dark fingers held delicate china cups and thin French crystal with careless ease. He had obviously inherited his Indian mother's love of jewelry. The rings on his hands glistened in the candlelight, and he had a silver medallion suspended on a rawhide thong around his neck. Intricately worked, made of many fine strands of silver interwoven into a star design, it nestled in the thick black hair of his chest like a softly winking star. She found herself wondering if he always wore it.
Unwillingly, her eyes traveled up to his face, where the strongly chiseled features looked almost satanic in the flickering candlelight. A splendid barbarian . Where had she read the phrase that popped suddenly into her mind?
He caught her staring, and his amused black eyes scorched her cheeks, turning them aflame with a humiliating girlish blush. Carrie had never felt so young and socially inept in her life.
Table conversation did not help ease her case of nerves. Noah opened the offensive, breaking the strained silence under which they'd begun the meal. “Why'd you come back? Things get too hot down in the Nations?”
Hawk picked up his knife and meticulously cut a small slice of the chicken breast before replying, “At least I arrived in better condition than last time. Aren't you grateful I'm not bleeding all over your Aubusson rugs?”
Carrie gasped in shock. “Bleeding?”
Noah cleared his throat in warning to her. Damn her childish curiosity. Grudgingly he said, “Last time my son arrived home more dead than alive. Shot in a gunfight.”
Hawk let out a harsh, low chuckle. “Yeah, Lola was furious with Kyle. When he dragged me in I ruined the carpet in the entry hall. Thoughtless of me to hemorrhage in such an inconvenient place.”
That was the second time Carrie had heard the name Lola. Who was Lola? Was she the former housekeeper? A sister?
Noah glared at his son with such intense hatred that Carrie thought it would shrivel any ordinary mortal. “Leave that tramp out of this conversation!”
Hawk looked unconcerned by the menacing posture of his father as he turned to Carrie. “Another skeleton in the closet. Poor girl, you really should check out a man's family connections as well as his bank account before marrying him.”
Carrie let out a little gasp of indignation, and Noah's face darkened.
Before either of them could say a word, Hawk continued. “Lola Jameson was the second Mrs. Sinclair.”
This time Carrie blanched.
“Ah, you didn't know you're number three? Well,
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