Christmas On The Ranch. Arlene James
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“What was that you were speaking earlier? It wasn’t English.”
“Well, it’s primarily Unami. Some call it Lenape, though that word means man or people. My mother was almost full-blood Leni-Lenape, what you would call Delaware Indian.”
“Then you’re Native American.”
She smiled. “Mostly.”
“No wonder you’re so beautiful.” She looked as shocked as he felt, the words slipping out completely unintended. “I mean, no wonder your hair and eyes are so black and your skin is so...smooth.”
Her “Thank you” came out in a strangled voice, but then she quickly said, “I’d better get back to the house.”
Dixon muttered, “Gonna work the horses.”
She hurried away, and when he finished mentally kicking himself, he determined to do his very best to keep his distance.
He put his hand in his coat pocket and felt the half-filled baggie there.
Clearly the woman was dangerous to his good sense. If nothing else.
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