The next instant she glimpsed a black horse cutting through the crowd, and a familiar, deep voice said, "Blue Eyes?"
Hunter's breath caught when Loretta turned at the sound of his voice. For an instant he forgot about the child cradled against his chest, his entire being focused on the beautiful woman who stood, surrounded by hostile squaws, in a cloud of settling dust. Her eyes shone like the brilliant blue at the base of a flame, dark lashes sweeping to the arch of her honey-gold brows. Her braid had come loose, and rich folds of golden hair spilled to her shoulders. She was so beautiful that he couldn't believe, was almost afraid to believe, she truly belonged to him. Even in voluminous skirts, covered chin to toe in multiple layers of cloth, he could see the feminine lines of her body, the swell of her breasts, the indentation of her waist, the flare of her hips.
Hunter had been proud of few possessions during his life. He had, of course, been proud of his first bow and his first coup feather. And he had certainly been proud of his wonderful war pony, Smoke. But the feeling that coursed through him now surpassed hat. This golden woman was bound to him by her God promise, his and only his, forever with no horizon. Desire, hot and urgent, flared to life inside him as he contemplated the coming night. The thought of having her in his buffalo robes, of loving her as he had dreamed of doing so many times, made the trials he had endured to find Amy seem like nothing.
Hunter's breath caught when Loretta turned at the sound of his voice. For an instant he forgot about the child cradled against his chest, his entire being focused on the beautiful woman who stood, surrounded by hostile squaws, in a cloud of settling dust. Her eyes shone like the brilliant blue at the base of a flame, dark lashes sweeping to the arch of her honey-gold brows. Her braid had come loose, and rich folds of golden hair spilled to her shoulders. She was so beautiful that he couldn't believe, was almost afraid to believe, she truly belonged to him. Even in voluminous skirts, covered chin to toe in multiple layers of cloth, he could see the feminine lines of her body, the swell of her breasts, the indentation of her waist, the flare of her hips.
Hunter had been proud of few possessions during his life. He had, of course, been proud of his first bow and his first coup feather. And he had certainly been proud of his wonderful war pony, Smoke. But the feeling that coursed through him now surpassed hat. This golden woman was bound to him by her God promise, his and only his, forever with no horizon. Desire, hot and urgent, flared to life inside him as he contemplated the coming night. The thought of having her in his buffalo robes, of loving her as he had dreamed of doing so many times, made the trials he had endured to find Amy seem like nothing.
( Catherine Anderson )
[ Comanche Moon ]
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