White Owl

White Owl turned slowly around to face her again. “I do not know this man—your father, but I have known enough white men to know that he will never understand why we are together.”

“Together?” Rose asked. “Are we—together?”

He took one of her hands—it seemed so small and fragile in his own large, rough hand. Her porcelain skin looked even paler against his. “Ever since I first laid eyes on you, I knew that I had to make you my woman. It was a feeling that was stronger than anything I have ever known before, and I am a man who goes after what he wants.” He pulled her close to him and let his gaze meet hers, as he added, “And, my Wild Rose, I want you.”

Other
Leisure
books by Veronica Blake:

BLACK HORSE

V
ERONICA
B
LAKE

DORCHESTER PUBLISHING

January 2011

Published by

Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.
200 Madison Avenue
New York, NY 10016

Copyright © 2011 by Veronica Blake

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

ISBN 13: 978-1-4285-1133-0
E-ISBN: 978-1-4285-0914-6

The “DP” logo is the property of Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.

Printed in the United States of America.

Visit us online at
www.dorchesterpub.com
.

Having another book published by Dorchester Publishing is definitely a dream come true, and I would like to thank my wonderful editor, Leah Hultenschmidt, for making this become a reality
.

I would also like to thank my friend, Lynne Zydonik, for her friendship and encouragement
.

A very special thank-you, as always, to my amazing family for their constant support and understanding
.

W
HITE
O
WL

Owl scanned the ridgeline for the woman. He had seen her on top of the plateau every day for more than a week. If she showed up today, he planned to get a closer look and perhaps ask her what she found so fascinating about the Utes’ afternoon activities.

In the meadow below, White Owl’s comrades were partaking in their favorite pastime. The track they had worn into the ground to race their ponies on was one of the best they had ever had, and there was no greater joy than competing with one another for the chance to be known as the Ute brave with the fastest pony.

For the past several days, however, White Owl’s attention had been diverted from the races by the woman who hid in the bushes and watched them.

The loud hooting and hollering of his comrades combined with the pounding of horse hooves against the hard ground nearly drowned out the sound of the approaching horse. It wasn’t until she was already in her hiding spot that White Owl realized the woman was here. From his viewpoint he could barely see the dark brown tip of her horse’s nose sticking out from the bushes. He could not
see anything of the woman. But it would only be a matter of minutes before the two horses spotted each other.

With a swift kick in his horse’s sides, White Owl and his horse lunged forward and in a couple of strides were directly in front of the woman and her pony. He pulled hard on the reins and brought his horse to an abrupt halt while the other horse snorted and tossed its head in surprise. His gaze was drawn to the woman’s eyes . . . they were as blue as the midday sky overhead.

Although it had only been his intention to let the woman know he was aware that she was watching them race their ponies, it was White Owl who was caught off guard. The constricted feeling in his throat made speaking impossible, and his heart felt as if it was about to pound out of his chest. It seemed as though they stared at one another forever before White Owl was finally able to gain control of his senses. Then, he did the only thing that he could think of doing at this awkward moment—he gave the woman a sly smile and eyed her entire body in an obvious appraisal. With a toss of his head that sent his long raven hair swirling back over his bare shoulders, White Owl spun his horse around and with a gleeful war whoop galloped back down the hillside in a cloud of dirt and rocks.

Rosaline Adair stared at the swirl of dust that rose in front of her face as if she was in a trance. The Ute’s unexpected appearance had left her without one coherent thought. Once her shock began to
fade, her father’s heavily accented Irish voice raced through her head, “Don’t ride out alone. Them Indians will snatch you up quicker than the blink of an eye, and that will be the end of you, Rosie girl.”

She was certain that she had just stared her “end” right in the face. He was even more terrifying since she had never been so close to a Ute warrior before. At the nearby White River Indian Agency, she had only seen Indian women and children, and occasionally one of the older Ute chiefs. The younger Ute men did not like anything that was associated with the agency or with the homesteaders who were moving in on all the surrounding lands.

Rose pressed her hand against her chest and attempted to take a full breath. The dust the Indian’s horse had stirred up made her cough and caused her eyes to sting, but she didn’t take the time to wipe the dirt from her bleary gaze. She had to get out of here now. Her obedient mare, Molly, seemed to sense her fear as they hurried down the back side of the slope. Once they were on flat ground, she kicked the horse in the sides, and the animal lunged forward in a gallop that matched the thudding of Rose’s frantic heartbeat.

Although there was no sign the Indian was following her, Rose’s panic continued to increase until she was within sight of the house where she lived with her parents and two brothers.

Rose slowed Molly to a trot. She took a couple more deep breaths in an attempt to calm down as she approached the corral where her father and younger brother, Donavan, were busy filling the
horse troughs with water. She yanked down the wide brim of her brown hat in an effort to hide as much of her face as possible when she rode past them.

“Hey, Sis,” Donavan called out. “Where you been?”

Rose waved and forced a weak smile as she rode by, but she did not attempt to speak. She could not trust her voice since her entire body was still shaking from her brief encounter with the Ute brave. When her father glanced up at her, Rose avoided meeting his gaze and continued to ride toward their newly built barn. Her smile faded the instant she was inside. As she slid from Molly’s back a loud voice rang out. She closed her eyes tightly and tried to prepare herself for the accusations she knew would come.

“You look mighty guilty. What have you been up to?”

Rose turned slowly to face Tate, her twin brother. “W-what do you m-mean? I was just riding Molly down by the creek.” She shrugged her shoulders in a nonchalant manner. “I sat on the creek bed for a spell and enjoyed this wonderful weather we are having.” She could tell that he was not in the mood for friendly chitchat.

“Well, there are plenty of chores to be done, and you’re out gallivantin’ around. Besides, remember what Pa told you about them Injuns.”

“I know what Pa said,” Rose retorted with an indignant toss of her head as she led her horse into her stall. She undid the cinch and pulled the saddle
from Molly’s back, then hoisted it over the rail as she fought the urge to engage in another battle with her brother.

“That horse looks like she’s been run a lot farther than from just down by the creek.” Tate shook his head and added, “You’d best go see if Ma needs help and quit actin’ like you’re some princess who doesn’t need to work. I’ll finish takin’ care of Molly.”

Rose clenched her teeth together until they hurt. She had the same rich red hair color as her brother and a similar shade of blue eyes, but beyond those physical traits, there was nothing else they had in common. Tate was a copy of their father. Both were unyielding and opinionated to the point that it was impossible to reason with them most of the time. Rose sighed heavily. “I’m on my way to help Ma right now. Thanks for tending to Molly.”

She stomped past her twin without glancing in his direction or giving him a chance to say anything else. Once out of the barn, Rose practically ran to the house. She could fib to Tate, but if her father confronted her about her whereabouts, she would have a hard time lying to him. Once she was in the house and realized that her mother was nowhere in sight, she sighed with relief. She was definitely not ready to face her mother.

Like the barn, the home that she shared with her parents and brothers was recently finished. The sprawling log cabin consisted of one large room that housed the kitchen, living and dining area;
three small rooms provided one bedroom for her parents, one shared by her brothers and, thankfully, one for Rose to occupy alone. She rushed to her little sanctuary now and closed the heavy woolen curtain before tossing her hat on the bureau and throwing herself down on her bed face-first.

What had she been thinking? She knew riding so far from home was dangerous, and she definitely should not have been on Ute land. The Northern Utes, or
Noochew
Utes, who lived in the mountains and plains in the nearby villages barely tolerated the whites homesteading in the surrounding areas. But lately the tension was drawn tighter each day between the Indians and the whites—thanks to Nathan Meeker, the Indian agent at the White River Indian Agency.