Read Online The Hunter's Moon (The Secret Warrior Series) by Beth Trissel - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Beth Trissel
Ads: Link
dark eyes said, Go away .
Jackson’s Uncle Buck was similar in appearance and dress to his father, a little taller, and he bristled less when scrutinizing her. “Hello,” he offered, in a quiet tone.
Morgan nodded at him. “Hello. Thank you for having me.”
Peter Wapicoli looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. Clearly, he hadn’t issued an invitation.
Ignoring her son’s disapproval, Miriam patted the bench nearest her. “Come sit by me, Morgan.”
“Sure.” As the men were on the other side of the table, and farther down, she stepped in that direction.
“She sits by me. Jackson too.”
Morgan’s heart nearly stopped and she halted. Okema stood beside her. When had he entered the kitchen? He was as tall as Jackson, about 6’ 2”, and could hardly have been overlooked before. He’d pulled one of his secret warrior stunts.
Round-eyed Jimmy must be wondering the same thing about the new arrival. His weren’t the only pair of eyes following Okema as he lowered himself onto the chair at the head of the table. He still wore the buckskin coat he had last evening. Leather pants molded to his legs and met his high-topped moccasins. Three golden feathers still fluttered from the two braids knotted together at the top of his white head. He was the same as before, and yet, something felt different. His demeanor, maybe. He wasn’t quite as terrifying this morning, but intimidating enough.
The Wapicoli revered their leader, and his word was law. But what of fear? Were they accustomed to his peculiar comings and goings? They relied on Okema for protection, but did they truly love him? Was that even possible?
Jackson guided Morgan with a light hand on her elbow. She slid shakily onto the bench at Okema’s left. Jackson sat at his right. Everyone made room. Glances were exchanged. Okema joining them at breakfast must not be a common occurrence, but his seat had been left vacant, probably an unspoken rule.
Finding herself seated between Okema and Peter Wapicoli wasn’t the spot she would have chosen. At least Jackson sat across from her. She met his wary gaze. He didn’t fully trust Okema in regard to her, she realized. Not a comforting thought, as she didn’t either, and she sensed Okema had a plan in mind.
At a nod from the chief, Miriam rose and hastened to the hearth. With a tea towel to shield her hand from the heat, she lifted the iron coffee pot warming on a trivet over the coals. It reminded Morgan of the kind of pot cowboys used for coffee while seated around the campfire scraping baked beans off metal plates. At least, they did in movies.
She swung back and forth between making comparisons to colonial America and the Old West. With all the weird stuff happening here, maybe it was like being in the Cowboys & Aliens movie, only with warriors and werewolves. And she was definitely not gonna get to be one of the cowboys.
Sweet looking Willow fetched more tableware. Okema received a steaming mug of the fragrant brew, as did Jackson and Morgan. Miriam poured cream from a blue stoneware pitcher into each cup and offered Morgan sugar from the small, matching sugar bowl. Since she didn’t actually drink coffee yet, and this was probably the kind of brew cowboys swore put hair on your chest, she added several spoonfuls and stirred. She’d be hairy soon enough.
Willow handed her a plate of corncakes dripping with maple syrup, strips of bacon, and a fork. Between the two efficient women, the three were served while everyone waited in silence. The tension was palpable, as if they anticipated a sudden attack.
Maybe they did.
Okema hadn’t yet spoken, or taken a bite. How Morgan was to eat with her stomach in knots, she couldn’t think. The chief raised his fork, and Jackson did the same. A signal, she supposed. Jimmy returned to his plate with keen watchfulness, darting glances from the corners of his eyes. The kid was in watchdog mode. He’d probably figure everything out before the last bite. Or not.
Jackson’s Uncle Buck was similar in appearance and dress to his father, a little taller, and he bristled less when scrutinizing her. “Hello,” he offered, in a quiet tone.
Morgan nodded at him. “Hello. Thank you for having me.”
Peter Wapicoli looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. Clearly, he hadn’t issued an invitation.
Ignoring her son’s disapproval, Miriam patted the bench nearest her. “Come sit by me, Morgan.”
“Sure.” As the men were on the other side of the table, and farther down, she stepped in that direction.
“She sits by me. Jackson too.”
Morgan’s heart nearly stopped and she halted. Okema stood beside her. When had he entered the kitchen? He was as tall as Jackson, about 6’ 2”, and could hardly have been overlooked before. He’d pulled one of his secret warrior stunts.
Round-eyed Jimmy must be wondering the same thing about the new arrival. His weren’t the only pair of eyes following Okema as he lowered himself onto the chair at the head of the table. He still wore the buckskin coat he had last evening. Leather pants molded to his legs and met his high-topped moccasins. Three golden feathers still fluttered from the two braids knotted together at the top of his white head. He was the same as before, and yet, something felt different. His demeanor, maybe. He wasn’t quite as terrifying this morning, but intimidating enough.
The Wapicoli revered their leader, and his word was law. But what of fear? Were they accustomed to his peculiar comings and goings? They relied on Okema for protection, but did they truly love him? Was that even possible?
Jackson guided Morgan with a light hand on her elbow. She slid shakily onto the bench at Okema’s left. Jackson sat at his right. Everyone made room. Glances were exchanged. Okema joining them at breakfast must not be a common occurrence, but his seat had been left vacant, probably an unspoken rule.
Finding herself seated between Okema and Peter Wapicoli wasn’t the spot she would have chosen. At least Jackson sat across from her. She met his wary gaze. He didn’t fully trust Okema in regard to her, she realized. Not a comforting thought, as she didn’t either, and she sensed Okema had a plan in mind.
At a nod from the chief, Miriam rose and hastened to the hearth. With a tea towel to shield her hand from the heat, she lifted the iron coffee pot warming on a trivet over the coals. It reminded Morgan of the kind of pot cowboys used for coffee while seated around the campfire scraping baked beans off metal plates. At least, they did in movies.
She swung back and forth between making comparisons to colonial America and the Old West. With all the weird stuff happening here, maybe it was like being in the Cowboys & Aliens movie, only with warriors and werewolves. And she was definitely not gonna get to be one of the cowboys.
Sweet looking Willow fetched more tableware. Okema received a steaming mug of the fragrant brew, as did Jackson and Morgan. Miriam poured cream from a blue stoneware pitcher into each cup and offered Morgan sugar from the small, matching sugar bowl. Since she didn’t actually drink coffee yet, and this was probably the kind of brew cowboys swore put hair on your chest, she added several spoonfuls and stirred. She’d be hairy soon enough.
Willow handed her a plate of corncakes dripping with maple syrup, strips of bacon, and a fork. Between the two efficient women, the three were served while everyone waited in silence. The tension was palpable, as if they anticipated a sudden attack.
Maybe they did.
Okema hadn’t yet spoken, or taken a bite. How Morgan was to eat with her stomach in knots, she couldn’t think. The chief raised his fork, and Jackson did the same. A signal, she supposed. Jimmy returned to his plate with keen watchfulness, darting glances from the corners of his eyes. The kid was in watchdog mode. He’d probably figure everything out before the last bite. Or not.
Similar Books
