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Authors: Sharon Ihle
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beaten, too?"
"A little," he said, barely controlling the urge to turn and run.
Dominique frowned. She wasn't reaching him. He seemed to be avoiding her for some reason, as if he thought she was somehow unworthy of his attention. And then she remembered the nasty rumors concerning her captivity, the lies she'd heard bandied about the fort. Had he, too, heard that she'd been ravaged by the Indian who abducted her? Did he assume she was spoiled for decent men? Others, mostly the wives of the enlisted soldiers, snickered and pointed behind her back, made rude comments about her virtue when they thought she could not hear. Apparently their vicious gossip had already reached the ears of the Seventh Cavalry's newest recruit.
Dominique inhaled, smoothing the silk skirts of her green and white candy-stripe dress, and flipped a long golden curl across her shoulder. Then she lifted her chin in defiance and said, "Excuse me, Private. I guess the general was mistaken—you and I have absolutely nothing to talk about. Good evening."
"No—wait." Realizing that she was more offended than enlightened, convincing himself that to secure the Long Hair's trust, he must also court the goodwill of his family, Jacob feigned a timidity that was not part of his nature. "I do not know what to say to you. You are very... beautiful."
Words. They were just words she'd heard a thousand times before, but again those feelings of familiarity raced through Dominique's system, sending her mind back to chaos, leaving her body weak and trembling with something other than fear. She was drawn to him, compelled to remain standing before him whether he spoke another word or not. Eager to understand what these feelings meant, confused as well, she took a long breath and gave him a little pout as she said, "Thank you for the kind words, Private. I'll bet you say that to all the girls."
Jacob faked a sheepish grin, then glanced around the room. He was desperate to be out of her view, terrified her occasional thoughtful glances would suddenly turn to recognition. Soon, he feared, her memory would provide her with answers to the questions he could see in her playful eyes. When that happened, she would look at him and scream. What would he do then? Murder her? Kill himself?
"I realize you are a little shy," she said, determined to get this bashful soldier to open up, "but the least you can do is answer my questions."
Jacob shrugged. "I do not know many women," he offered, hoping that would explain his silence. "I do not know what to say to you,"
Dominique's gaze turned puzzled and introspective. She cocked her head as feather tips tickled the recesses of her mind. Frustrated, she blurted out, "You seem awfully familiar to me, private. Have you and I met before?"
Jacob tensed. "No."
"Are you sure?" As if drawn together by pouch strings, Dominique's eyebrows bunched. "How about your family? Do you have any brothers or sisters?"
As Jacob thought of ways to dissuade her and turn the conversation to her life at the fort, he suddenly saw a glimmer of hope in her final question. With another bashful shrug, he said, "I cannot be sure about my family."
"What?" she said, laughing. "Why wouldn't you know about your own family?"
Settling on a half-truth, he began with an accurate account of his own childhood. "The Sioux came into my life once before. My father and sister were killed by Indians many years ago. I was picking berries in the bushes away from our camp, and so my life was spared." Jacob paused here, surprised at the jolt of pain the memory still drove into his heart. Then he finished with the lie that would best serve his purposes: "My mother was captured by the Sioux. If she survived the ordeal, I could have brothers and sisters I do not know of."
Dominique gasped, "Oh, dear—I'm so sorry to have asked such a personal question." As the implications of what he'd said sank in, she wondered—could she have been saved by a half-breed brother of the man
"A little," he said, barely controlling the urge to turn and run.
Dominique frowned. She wasn't reaching him. He seemed to be avoiding her for some reason, as if he thought she was somehow unworthy of his attention. And then she remembered the nasty rumors concerning her captivity, the lies she'd heard bandied about the fort. Had he, too, heard that she'd been ravaged by the Indian who abducted her? Did he assume she was spoiled for decent men? Others, mostly the wives of the enlisted soldiers, snickered and pointed behind her back, made rude comments about her virtue when they thought she could not hear. Apparently their vicious gossip had already reached the ears of the Seventh Cavalry's newest recruit.
Dominique inhaled, smoothing the silk skirts of her green and white candy-stripe dress, and flipped a long golden curl across her shoulder. Then she lifted her chin in defiance and said, "Excuse me, Private. I guess the general was mistaken—you and I have absolutely nothing to talk about. Good evening."
"No—wait." Realizing that she was more offended than enlightened, convincing himself that to secure the Long Hair's trust, he must also court the goodwill of his family, Jacob feigned a timidity that was not part of his nature. "I do not know what to say to you. You are very... beautiful."
Words. They were just words she'd heard a thousand times before, but again those feelings of familiarity raced through Dominique's system, sending her mind back to chaos, leaving her body weak and trembling with something other than fear. She was drawn to him, compelled to remain standing before him whether he spoke another word or not. Eager to understand what these feelings meant, confused as well, she took a long breath and gave him a little pout as she said, "Thank you for the kind words, Private. I'll bet you say that to all the girls."
Jacob faked a sheepish grin, then glanced around the room. He was desperate to be out of her view, terrified her occasional thoughtful glances would suddenly turn to recognition. Soon, he feared, her memory would provide her with answers to the questions he could see in her playful eyes. When that happened, she would look at him and scream. What would he do then? Murder her? Kill himself?
"I realize you are a little shy," she said, determined to get this bashful soldier to open up, "but the least you can do is answer my questions."
Jacob shrugged. "I do not know many women," he offered, hoping that would explain his silence. "I do not know what to say to you,"
Dominique's gaze turned puzzled and introspective. She cocked her head as feather tips tickled the recesses of her mind. Frustrated, she blurted out, "You seem awfully familiar to me, private. Have you and I met before?"
Jacob tensed. "No."
"Are you sure?" As if drawn together by pouch strings, Dominique's eyebrows bunched. "How about your family? Do you have any brothers or sisters?"
As Jacob thought of ways to dissuade her and turn the conversation to her life at the fort, he suddenly saw a glimmer of hope in her final question. With another bashful shrug, he said, "I cannot be sure about my family."
"What?" she said, laughing. "Why wouldn't you know about your own family?"
Settling on a half-truth, he began with an accurate account of his own childhood. "The Sioux came into my life once before. My father and sister were killed by Indians many years ago. I was picking berries in the bushes away from our camp, and so my life was spared." Jacob paused here, surprised at the jolt of pain the memory still drove into his heart. Then he finished with the lie that would best serve his purposes: "My mother was captured by the Sioux. If she survived the ordeal, I could have brothers and sisters I do not know of."
Dominique gasped, "Oh, dear—I'm so sorry to have asked such a personal question." As the implications of what he'd said sank in, she wondered—could she have been saved by a half-breed brother of the man
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