“What’s wrong?” Gib prompted. He had seen darkness cloud her eyes at the mention of Geronimo’s name.
With a sigh, Kuchana rested her hands on Wind’s back and looked at Gib. “My heart is breaking,” she admitted softly.
“You’ve a right to feel that way,” Gib said. “Leaving your tribe to become a scout wasn’t easy for you.”
His understanding made tears rush to Kuchana’s eyes. She forced back the reaction, managing a shrug. “I—yes, I miss them.”
“One of these days, you’ll be reunited,” Gib told her, wishing he could comfort her. The tears in Kuchana’s eyes tore at him.
“No,” she whispered, “that will never be.”
“Sure it will. Geronimo can’t keep running forever. There’re just too many people after him.”
“You do not understand,” Kuchana said, pausing to gather her emotions. “Before I left, Geronimo pronounced me dead.” Her voice cracked. “I no longer exist to them—not even to my sister, Ealae.”
“What?” Gib stared at her suffering features. Kuchana couldn’t be more than eighteen, her skin was so flawless and unlined. Yet, he knew her life had been a harsh one. To be an outcast was worse than being killed. Without thinking, Gib gripped her arm and gently pulled her around to face him.
Tears beaded her thick lashes. “Look at me,” he whispered thickly. When she bowed her head, he placed a finger beneath her chin, forcing her to look up at him. As her lashes lifted, he saw for the first time the full extent of the terrible pain she carried.
“I can never go back,” she murmured. “I am dead. No one will ever speak to me again, Gib. I am a ghost…” A sob caught in her throat, and with a little cry, she turned away from him burying her face in her hands.
Gib stood there helplessly. He didn’t dare touch Kuchana again or take her into his arms to comfort her as he wanted to. Searching, he tried to find words that would heal her, but it was impossible. “I didn’t realize any of this.” Kuchana would never fit into white society, either. Once Geronimo surrendered, he’d be sent back to the reservation. And most probably, so would Kuchana. Her own people would ignore her. That would gradually kill her. Gib had seen it happen before.
“You’ve paid a hell of a price to come here.”
Kuchana turned toward him. She longed to lean against Gib, instinctively realizing that she would find solace in his arms. The fierce blue fire in his eyes told her he understood. “I believe in what I did, Gib. I have watched my family dying for the past two years. I have only one sister left. What else could I do? Geronimo has filled the heads of my people with impossible dreams.” With a trembling hand, she touched her brow. “I had no choice but to offer myself to the army. Geronimo must be brought in to save those who blindly follow him.”
Studying Kuchana in the silence that followed, Gib held her softened gaze. She was incredibly vulnerable in ways that most women would never be. The desire to slide his fingers across her smooth cheeks, frame her face and kiss away the pain he saw there was unbearable. “Such courage,” he whispered, managing an unsteady smile. “You’ve got more than any ten men I know.”
Kuchana took a ragged breath. “I do not see myself as courageous. I see only my people slowly dying of starvation.”
The urge to comfort Kuchana was overwhelming. If Gib didn’t move to break the spell between them, he’d do something he’d regret. She confronted too much adversity to be humiliated by him in front of all these men. Knowing the truth of her decision to become a scout only served to make him that much more protective of her.
“Somehow, things will work out for you,” he told her. “I don’t know how yet, but I’ve got a feeling they will.” When he saw her rally, he smiled. “Come on, let’s get to work. First things first. Let’s go study those maps. Afterward, I need to go over to Laundry and pick up my clothes.”
Never had a woman held his heart as gently in her hands as Kuchana. Gib wrestled with his feelings toward her. He’d been in love before, but never had such an intense or all-consuming emotion taken him so completely. He studied her closely. Love? Impossible. Forcing himself to shove his discovery aside until later, when he could think straight, Gib headed toward headquarters with Kuchana at his side.
Grateful for his unspoken support, she looked up at him. “I want to see your maps. Geronimo must be caught soon.”
* * *
“Look, she’s coming!” Nettie squealed, up to her skinny elbows in hot water and suds. She stood just outside one of the many laundry tents, washing clothes. “Mama!”
“I’m coming,” Poppy grunted, bent over a pot in the tent. One of the cooks had just made a delivery of fresh bighorn meat to the rear of their tent. Poppy had thanked the soldier and promptly dropped the meat into a large black kettle with onions and beans. She rubbed her hands together and straightened.
“Mama!” Nettie’s high, excited voice warbled again.
Wiping her hands on a worn towel, Poppy trundled forward. She saw Sergeant McCoy and Kuchana walking her way. Beaming, she stepped outside and into their path.
Kuchana had never seen such a huge woman in all her life. There was warmth in the woman’s big brown eyes and an even warmer smile on her thick lips. She heard Gib chuckle.
“Poppy, you look like a sly fox.”
“Sergeant McCoy, I just wanted to thank you.”
Gib glanced at Kuchana who was politely trying not to stare at the Negro woman. “Better thank Kuchana, then. That was her kill we dropped off.”
Picking up her blue calico skirts, Poppy barreled toward the Apache woman. She grinned broadly and gripped Kuchana’s hand. “My name is Poppy, chile. We just got the meat and wanted to thank you.”
Kuchana was overwhelmed by Poppy’s gushing warmth. She stared down at the woman’s ebony skin, amazed at how pink her palms were in comparison. “The food is for all,” she said. Poppy’s callused palms dwarfed her own slender hands.
“And we’ll use it, chile.” Poppy released her hands and grinned at her. “You’re a purty thing. Isn’t she, Sergeant McCoy?”
“Yes she is,” he agreed.
Poppy saw a dull red color creep into Kuchana’s cheeks. “The girl’s blushing.”
Gib grinned. “She’s not used to such personal remarks from strangers, Poppy. Her people are very reserved in comparison to us.”
Nettie leaned forward then, gingerly touching Kuchana’s outstretched hand.
“And I thought Apaches were tough as nails,” Nettie said.
“They’re people just like us,” Gib said with a chuckle.
“They’ve got heart,” Poppy corrected her daughter, relinquishing Kuchana’s hand. “They ain’t got thick skin, Nettie.” A rumbling laugh erupted from her. “I know some officers that are thick-headed as mules, though.”
Gib laughed as he watched the rapport between the three women grow. He saw the glow in Kuchana’s features and her eyes sparkling with new life. Poppy’s motherly nature was making her feel at ease for the first time.
“Nettie, fetch Sergeant McCoy’s pressed clothes. And Kuchana, you come with me, chile.” She grabbed her hand again and led her into the tent.
Poppy opened one of the large, battered leather trunks. “Now, you just stand there, chile. I’ve got something for you.”
Kuchana strained to look over Poppy’s shoulder—difficult, for the woman was as large as a mountain. And Poppy’s friendliness was genuine. She came from the heart.
Poppy threw several pieces of