Night Hawk's Bride. Jillian Hart
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hoped it to be.”
“I hope so.” All her life she’d imagined accompanying her father to one of his posts, and now it was truly happening. Marie grabbed her reticule from the seat and took one last look out the window. The man—image, shadow or dream—was gone.
There goes your romantic fancy again. Marie sighed. She was always daydreaming, something her father frowned on.
Please, let him be glad to see me. She knew he’d be here to greet her—he’d promised her in his last, brief letter. Nerves gathered in her stomach and made her hands clammy beneath her gloves as she grabbed the edge of the door frame and climbed onto the narrow step.
Where was he? She searched the strange faces of the people bustling around the entrance to the fort. Where was Papa? This time he’d promised to meet her. And she wanted to believe this time was different than all the other times he’d forgotten or been too busy.
The sinking sensation in her heart felt as heavy as lead. Careful to keep her chin up, she hopped off the last step and touched solid ground.
Maybe he was late. Or she hadn’t seen him yet in the small crowd. The stage was a few minutes early….
She stood alone, feeling like the stranger she was. Everywhere she looked people greeted one another, stopping outside the wooden steps to the mercantile to exchange news. Everything looked so different from home and she felt lost. Surely Papa hadn’t forgotten her this time.
“Miss Lafayette?” A uniformed soldier broke apart from the crowd. “Your father, the colonel, sends his apologies. A situation arose—”
“I understand.” Marie tried to steel her heart against the disappointment. It wasn’t this man’s fault Henry was the way he was. “Will he be along shortly?”
“I’m afraid he’ll be engaged for most of the afternoon. I’m Sergeant James. I’m your father’s assistant.” The officer avoided her gaze, as if he didn’t know what to say. “Are these your trunks?”
“Yes.” She hated the look of sympathy in his eyes. Sympathy for her. “He forgot, didn’t he?”
“No, miss, he’s simply busy—”
“He didn’t realize that I arrived today.” Marie refused to let the hurt show in her voice. “Don’t worry, Sergeant, I’m used to it. I know my father.”
“Just wanted to spare your feelings, miss.” The sergeant tugged on his cap. “I’ll see to your trunks.”
Marie began to thank him when a horse’s high, shrill neigh trumpeted above the sounds on the busy lane.
Suddenly a pair of iron-strong hands banded around her arms and yanked her back, away from the dirt road.
She stumbled against an unyielding, male-hot chest. Even through the layers of her traveling clothes, his heat scorched her and tingled along her skin.
For one brief second she felt the strangest thrill. She couldn’t describe it. Her heart was racing, her chest tightened and an odd ringing filled her ears.
She knew she ought to be terrified, but she wasn’t. Time slowed down, and there seemed to be nothing in the world but the protective shelter of his arms. She didn’t even know who held her, whether he was friend or foe, young or old.
Then he released her.
Time snapped back, the noise from the street and the crowd filled the air, and Marie nearly stumbled. Breathing again, she felt him brush past her arm. He was running toward the street, and she saw the danger.
A runaway horse clipped past her so close she could feel the heat of his breath. His lethal hooves slammed into the ground, obliterating her shoe prints in the thick dust. The renegade flew past her, then swerved to avoid the stagecoach.
A little girl stood directly in his path. Marie leaped into the road, but she was too late. A man wearing a deerskin shirt scooped the child to his chest and rolled out of the renegade’s path.
Not soon enough. The gelding was on top of him, skidding to a stop, bugling his fury. Wild, out of control, it reared up, hooves slashing the air, and then landed again. Marie heard a man’s grunt of pain, and a bullwhip cracked in the air behind her. The wild horse leaped over the man in the road and flew toward the river.
“Are you all right?” The sergeant appeared at her side. “You could have been killed.”
“I’m fine.”
“Cassie!” A woman darted out of the mercantile and raced down the stairs. “Cassie!”
The man holding the child rolled one final time and climbed to his feet. Marie saw his face, the dark eyes and long black hair, the chiseled bronze face that could have been made of stone.
The man from the forest.
Just seeing him made her heart beat painfully fast. He was like no man Marie had ever seen before. She could only stare as he brushed the dirt from the child’s locks and handed the girl over to the housekeeper responsible.
A tender gesture. Marie couldn’t believe her eyes. How could such a tough man have such gentle hands? She remembered the strength in them as he’d pulled her safely out of the gelding’s path. The same strength that kept a frightened child safe now.
Instead of crying, the little girl stuck her thumb in her mouth and gazed up at the man holding her. The child went wordlessly into the worried housekeeper’s arms. The woman couldn’t stop thanking the man enough for saving the child.
He’s bleeding. Marie saw the stain on the man’s shirtsleeve, spreading with each passing moment. He’d risked his life for a child, and she couldn’t look away.
The housekeeper crossed the street, muttering about how fast children could move. The men mounted up to join the army officer to bring in the dangerous horse.
Marie stood on the side of the street as the men rode off, the dark hero among them. He guided his black stallion bareback without aid of bridle and raced out of sight.
Admiration burned like a new flame in Marie’s heart.
“Looks like they’ll need help bringing in that killer.” The sergeant appeared at her side with a plump, elderly woman at his side. “This is Mrs. Kelsey. She’ll look after you while I help with the roundup.”
“Thank you, Sergeant.” But he was already swinging up onto his horse.
“Dear me, what a sweet little thing you are.” Mrs. Kelsey took Marie by the hand and tugged her toward the brightly painted mercantile. “I hope you weren’t frightened at all. If it hadn’t been for Night Hawk, I’d hate to think what would have happened to both you and that little girl. I was standing at the window, and what I saw nearly scared me to death.”
Night Hawk. His name must be Night Hawk. Marie hesitated on the top step and gazed toward the bend in the road.
She could no longer see him, but the image of him lingered. Dark, brave, proud. His long black hair brushed by the wind. A man who would have traded his life for a child’s without hesitation.
“Come right in here, dear, and let me get you some cold water.” Mrs. Kelsey held open the stout wooden door. “You need to sit down after a scare like that.”
“Really, I’m fine.” Marie could still feel the heated imprint of Night Hawk’s hands on her arms. “Is the child all right?”
“There’s not a scratch on her.” Mrs. Kelsey’s voice lowered as she led the way down the aisles and through the noisy store. “Now, sit right down here on this stool and I’ll fetch you a drink.”
“Please, don’t go to any trouble—” Marie started but couldn’t finish the protest.
Mrs. Kelsey had already bustled away, her skirts rustling. She returned with a dipperful of sparkling cold water. “Drink it all, dear, you’ll feel better.”
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