Sundancer (Cheyenne Series) by Shirl Henke Page A

her, noting the rosy flush of her cheeks. She had been tense as a treed cat around him ever since that night he awakened while she was bathing him. What had set her off now? He said nothing, just watched as she knelt, placing the food before him. She was graceful as a society belle in spite of being dressed in doeskin clothing and sitting on the bare dirt floor of a smoke-filled lodge. When she arranged the meat on the board with a knife, she started to rise and leave.
           Suddenly he wanted her to stay. “Don't go—join me. You must be hungry.”
           Roxanna was startled. The invitation seemed impulsive and earnest, two qualities she never suspected Cain possessed. One silvery eyebrow lifted. “Surely a mere woman cannot eat with a warrior.”
           “I'm Not Cheyenne, remember? I can do whatever I choose, and I choose to share my food with you...if you would consent to join me.”
           Something made her sit back down, perhaps the watery weakening in her knees. She reached for some of the chokecherries as he carved the charred dry slab of bison meat into palatable slices, offering her one.
           ‘‘It's not beef, but it's not bad,” he said as he helped himself to a piece, ignoring the desiccated lung.
           “You're right, you aren't Indian, are you? I mean...you don't seem to like being here even though you were born here,” she said, curiosity winning out over wariness at last. Many things that Sees Much and Leather Shirt had said over the past days since Cain's arrival intrigued her. The Lone Bull intrigued her, she admitted grudgingly.
           A guarded look came over his face as he asked, “What have you been told about me?”
           She shrugged. “Not much. That you were named Lone Bull by your mother, Blue Corn Woman. That your father was a white trader they call His Eyes Are Cold...and you chose to leave. Now they call you Not Cheyenne.” A sudden thought occurred to her. “Jubal—my grandfather—he isn't your father?” Surely there was no resemblance to the old daguerreotype on Alexa's mantel.
           Cain breathed easier, a difficult feat with his ribs still bound. Then a bitter half-smile touched his lips. “No, Jubal's my employer, no kin.”
           That confirmation brought a bizarre rush of relief to Roxanna that she chose not to examine. “Why did you leave these people?”
           “I didn't leave. I was banished,” he replied flatly.
           “Why?” Her dream of the young buffalo with the bloodied horns returned. Sees Much had understood its significance but had refused to share it with her. Suddenly she felt a sense of foreboding as she studied the injured man's harsh expression and moody black eyes.
           Cain had never told any white person his story, but suddenly he felt the need to share it with Alexa Hunt, spoiled, arrogant eastern heiress. The look of genuine concern—and confusion—in her eyes made his breath catch. This attraction was madness. Best to end it by telling her the truth...or at least part of the truth.
           “I killed my brother.” A cold feral smile spread across his lips, then vanished, leaving his face desolate. “Cain. I chose the name to remind me of the blood on my hands.”
           There was a well of self-loathing in those words. Horrified as she felt at the admission, Roxanna sensed his pain. “You would not have done it without a good reason,” she said softly.
           “I thought it was a good one then...when I was young, in pain, alone... I was my mother's second son,” he began and the years rolled back. “Her Cheyenne husband was killed by whites when my brother, High-Backed Wolf, was three years old. Then my father came to one of the meets. He was a trapper and trader. He married Blue Corn Woman according to her people's ways and I was born. Maybe it would have been different if he'd gone Indian, the way many of the