Tender Taming (6 page)

By the time she had finished dressing and had returned the bed to its original couch state, the pleasant aroma of something cooking began to drift through the window. Giving the room a once-over glance and satisfying herself that she had left it impeccably neat, Whitney brushed her hair into a tie at the back of her neck and hurried out the cabin door.

On the top step Whitney paused and allowed her eyes to roam over the landscape. Things had changed overnight. The cabin, she realized, was built on a spit of high ground, and it was surrounded by a semblance of lawn. In the distance the sawgrass rippled in the breeze, shimmering like foam-flecked waves on an ocean. To the far left she could see an oasis of cypress trees, dripping prettily with moss. The scene, she had to admit, was beautiful.

“Whitney! Come on down.”

Her attention drawn back to the present, Whitney snapped her gaze to the right edge of the “lawn.” White Eagle, similarly appareled as herself in a dark blue work shirt and black jeans, was leaning over one knee as he poked at a small cooking fire. Whitney caught his brilliant blue gaze, and little butterflies began to flutter in her stomach. How could anyone be so damned, rawly attractive?

And he wasn’t alone. A sandy-haired young man in a Coors beer T-shirt and sneakers sat on the other side of the fire with a woman as stunningly attractive as White Eagle. Her eyes were the same brilliant blue, her hair the same slick raven black. It hung down to her waist in shining waves, framing a good-natured, beautifully sculpted face. For a moment Whitney felt her heart pull with the strings of jealousy. Then a silly smile of relief twitched her lips. With the remarkable resemblance, the woman could only be White Eagle’s sister.

Her hands stuffed shyly into her pockets, Whitney started across the grass toward them, realizing happily that Eagle had used her first name. In fact, after having addressed her as Miss Latham during their early conversations, he had also called her Whitney when he had come to comfort her after her nightmare …

“Miss Whitney Latham,” he was saying now as he stood with the sandy-haired man and the woman, “I’d like you to meet my sister, Katie Eagle, and her husband, Randy Harris.”

As Whitney accepted their friendly handshakes and returned their welcoming smiles, she wondered uneasily why it seemed that her host had stressed the surname Eagle and glanced warningly at his sister. It must have been her imagination, she decided; no one else had appeared to notice.

“Randy is with the Bureau of Indian Affairs,” White Eagle added as they all sat back down around the fire. “He’s in charge of some of the cattle projects at the Big Cypress Reservation. He and Katie have volunteered to show you around up there next week.”

“Thank you,” Whitney acknowledged, studying the woman again as she accepted a cup of coffee from Eagle. Katie wore jeans as did her brother, but her blouse was of colorful Indian design. The handiwork was intrinsic, with row after row of bright trim.

“We’re thrilled that you’re really interested,” Katie told her with an endearing eagerness. “When we first heard that T and C Development was willing to negotiate, we didn’t believe it, in all honesty,” she said apologetically. “My brother tells me that you’re even willing to try life in the Glades for a week.” Was Whitney imagining it, or did Katie really cast Eagle a reproachful glance?

“Thanks to your brother,” Whitney said wryly, “I’ve learned how ignorant I am.” The flutterings in her stomach were becoming gnawing pains. They had nothing to do with White Eagle; she was ravenously hungry! “What’s in the pan?” she inquired, sniffing.

“Good old Indian bacon and eggs,” Eagle said with his sardonic grin. “This is going to be your last ‘civilized’ meal for a while. And the last one
I
will be cooking. In Miccosukee society, the women still do the cooking.”

“I’m a good cook,” Whitney retorted, accepting the plate he handed her. His reply was a raised brow of amusement.

“Don’t let this man get to you,” Randy Harris said with a laugh at their interchange. “The Seminoles were counted in with the Five Civilized Tribes back in pioneer days. They were never given to caveman tactics and barbarism!”

Katie Eagle started to say something, but her brother quickly cut her off in their native tongue. Whitney glanced at them both with confusion, then at Randy. “That’s Miccosukee or ‘Hitchiti,’” he told her with a chuckle, “and I guarantee you, it’s not easy to learn! Then if you do learn it and meet up with the Cow Creek Seminoles, you have to start all over again. They speak Muskogee, like the Creeks from Oklahoma.”

Whitney smiled wanly. She had never even heard the word “Muskogee” before, nor did she know that Creeks lived in Oklahoma. “What are they talking about?” she asked him loudly, purposely interrupting the conversation that had grown animated between brother and sister. Not only did it seem rude, but she was sure they were discussing her.

“Can’t tell you,” Randy said with a shake of his head. “They’re speeding along too fast for me.”

“We disagree on the best way to introduce you to Indian life,” Eagle said smoothly. “Right, Katie?”

“Right,” his sister agreed with a sigh. “You will enjoy my grandmother, Whitney. She is hard-core Miccosukee.”

“That’s what Eagle says,” Whitney mused, wondering if there was a warning in the words. Still, she felt an element of safety in spite of her niggling suspicions. At least the sandy-haired man and Eagle’s friendly sister knew where she would be!

“Look!” Randy said suddenly, his voice a hush as he pointed across the lawn. “One of our peculiar beauties … a great white heron.”

Whitney followed his pointing finger and watched as the graceful bird closed its mighty wingspan and cocked its head to the breeze. The bird delicately balanced on a single foot for a second, a proud, immobile statue against the blue gold sky, then bunched its muscles and few into the horizon. It was a beautiful sight, Whitney silently agreed.

“Randy’s thing is birds,” Katie said.

“Wildlife,” Randy corrected, offering Whitney a wryly apologetic grin. “I can go off on tangents, so don’t let me.” He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket and offered them around. Thinking with surprise that she hadn’t missed smoking all night, Whitney gratefully accepted one and inhaled deeply. “Have to be real careful with these things in these parts,” Randy warned, indicating his cigarette and matches.

“You arrived at the tail end of the rainy season,” Eagle said as Whitney glanced with a frown at the wetness that surrounded their immediate dry circle. “For six months of the year we’re lucky if get a few inches of rain. A fire in the Glades can be a terrible thing. The earth itself burns.”

“I’ll be careful,” Whitney promised, pouring herself more coffee to accompany her cigarette.

“Maybe I’ll cure you of the habit before the week is out, anyway,” Eagle said, watching her expression as he leaned back on an elbow and musingly chewed on a blade of grass.

“Pardon?” Whitney looked at him suspiciously.

“You won’t be smoking.”

“Now wait a minute!” Whitney protested. “You keep making up new rules all the time! I didn’t make any promises regarding my personal habits!”

Eagle shrugged, imperially allowing her the slight concession. “You can bring whatever supply you have with you. I don’t want you running wild into the woods in the midst of a nicotine fit. You won’t find much time though, I think, to laze around with a cigarette.” He jumped suddenly to his feet and began collecting the dishes. “We have to get a move on. Your ‘swamp week’ is going to be exact. It starts at noon today and ends at noon in seven days. That is, if you make the first hour.”

“Oh, I will make it,” Whitney said sweetly, her eyes telling him what she thought he could do with his taunting cynicism. “I’ve told you that before.”

“She’s got the look of an eagle about her, too, my friend,” Randy said with a chuckle as he scrambled up to help White Eagle thoroughly douse the fire. “Watch it; she’ll beat you at your own game.”

“Maybe,” Eagle agreed good-naturedly, extending a hand to pull Whitney to her feet “I put a gallon of gas into your car this morning and pulled it around back,” he told her. “Go on and get anything else you’re going to need for your ‘personal habits.’ The keys are still in the ignition where you left them. We don’t have many thieves running around the neighborhood, but you might want to lock it up anyway.”

“Thanks,” Whitney said, dusting off the seat of her pants. “How are we going to get where we’re going?”

“Jeep and airboat,” Eagle said briefly, smiling. “Randy is the ‘brother’ I said was coming by. He and I will go hook up now. Go on—get ready.”

“I’ll come with you,” Katie offered.

“No!” Eagle snapped at his sister, softening his command with a pleasant request. “I’ll need you out here, if you don’t mind.”

Apparently Eagle was undisputed boss. Katie shrugged and lifted helpless hands to Whitney. “I guess I won’t get a chance to know you until next week. I stay with Morning Dew a lot myself, but I have to go back to Big Cypress with Randy now.”

If Katie didn’t have to go back to Big Cypress, Whitney decided dryly, she was certain White Eagle would find some other place to send her. It was obvious he didn’t want his sister involved in any deep discussions with her. Was he ashamed of anything, she wondered. That seemed doubtful. White Eagle was proud. He would declare what he was to the world and the devil himself could go hang.

“I’ll be looking forward to next week,” Whitney promised the Indian woman. Glancing across the lawn to where Eagle and Randy were about to round the corner of the cabin, Whitney saw that her host was staring crossly at his sister. “It looks like the big chief is summoning you,” she told Katie in a wry drawl. “I guess we will have to talk later.”

Katie chuckled, amused by the reference to her brother. “This isn’t good-bye yet. We’ll be dropping you off at the village. It really is remote.” Waving, she scampered off to join the men.

Whitney thoughtfully climbed the steps back to the cabin, realizing she had made grave mistakes in judgment where White Eagle was concerned. Obviously he and his soft-spoken sister had been well educated, and it was equally obvious he had some type of decent income. His books were expensive, his clothing quality. Airboats and jeeps were not cheap. Closing the door quietly behind her, Whitney glanced around the single room of the cabin and determined that a little snooping was in order. Rushing to his bureau, she hastily began to rifle through it.

She was doomed to disappointment. There wasn’t a single document, note or paper to be found. Absolutely nothing to tell her who White Eagle was or what he did. The only reward she received for her labors was a verification of what she already knew; White Eagle did receive a good income for something. The labels on his clothing were all well-known, respected names.

“Looking for something?”

His cool voice from the doorway startled her so that she slammed her fingers into a drawer, yelped and spun around to meet his demand with guilt written clearly across her face. “I—uh—I—”

“Yes?”

“Socks!” Whitney blurted, watching the cynical interest in his unfathomable blue gaze. Was he angry? Sometimes it was impossible to tell. “Socks,” she repeated, lowering her squeaky tone to a more moderate pitch. “I only have the one pair with me and I was sure that you wouldn’t mind.”

“No, I don’t mind at all.” Sedately walking past her, he reached into a drawer and handed her a pair of neatly folded blue socks. The drawer, which Whitney had not had a chance to return to its original state, gave evidence of having been thoroughly searched. “Sorry you had such a rough time finding them,” Eagle said politely.

“Yes, well, uh, thank you,” Whitney stammered, backing away from him. “I’ll, uh, just run out and lock up the car.”

“Yes, do that,” Eagle agreed pleasantly.

With an artificial smile plastered to her face, Whitney continued to back to the doorway. She backed all way to the steps, then went crashing down them with a small, startled cry of alarm.

White Eagle was leaning over her before she had a chance to gather together either her bruised body or ego. “You really do need to learn to watch where you’re going,” he told her with mock concern. “Can I give you a hand?”

“No, you may not!” Whitney snapped from her totally undignified sprawl. Damn him! He had watched her! He had known perfectly well that her steps were leading her to the graceless fall.

“As you wish.” Shrugging, Eagle turned back into the cabin, a grin playing at the corner of his lips. Whitney winced and pushed the ground with her palms to propel her smarting flesh back to a stand. At least she hadn’t really harmed anything except her pride!

“Where are your things?” the voice bellowed irately from the cabin.

“Right there!” Whitney returned exasperated. “My travel bag and the case. They’re on the couch—”

White Eagle poked his head from the cabin with an incredulous expression of pure disbelief. “Whitney,” he groaned, “we are not going for a week to the Waldorf-Astoria. We are going into the swamp for you to assimilate a different culture. One change of clothing will be sufficient.”

“One change of clothing?” Whitney sputtered. “For a week?”

“In the most contemporary of societies,” Eagle said with pointed patience, “people do
wash
clothing.”

Glaring at him belligerently, Whitney limped back up the steps and furiously ripped open her suitcase. Grabbing a second pair of jeans and a shirt and a set of matching lacy panties and bra, she stuffed them into her overnight bag and shoved it into his arms. “I am bringing my toothbrush!” she declared haughtily. “I don’t feel like rotting my teeth for you to prove some elusive point!”

“By all means, bring your toothbrush,” Eagle said with a laugh. He flung the bag back to her and she caught it by reflex. “Sorry, no porters. You carry your own gear.” With a mocking bow and quick turnabout, he was out the door.

Throwing the leather shoulder bag over her arm, Whitney followed him outside. The jeep, a new though rugged vehicle, had been pulled around in front, with the large, propellered airboat in tow. Randy was at the wheel with Katie beside him, both patiently waiting.