“Is that all you can do?” she demanded. “Stand there and stare?”
His brows drew together, but still he didn’t offer a response.
She pushed herself up and huffed irritably. “Don’t you have any manners at all?”
His frown deepened.
“Do you speak English?” she wanted to know. When he didn’t answer, she asked again. “Eng…lish. Do…you…speak…English?”
The man rocked back slightly, regarding her with caution.
“Oh, lovely!” Lily dug the heels of her shoes into the ground and launched herself to her feet. “Here I am pouring out my heart to someone who doesn’t even speak a civilized language!”
She whirled away and flung out both arms. “What sort of godforsaken place is this? Savages running loose! With no sense of decorum! No manners! Unable to even communicate!”
“What’s wrong with it?”
Lily gasped at the sound of his voice, and spun toward him. Embarrassment heated her cheeks. “You do speak English.”
He watched her curiously. “Your dress. What’s wrong with it?”
Lily planted a hand on her hip and pushed her chin up. “You should have made your language skills known earlier, sir, and not allowed me to carry on like that. And you should have introduced yourself.”
“North Walker,” he said, seemingly unperturbed by her scathing accusations about his heritage. “Your father has just died. Yet your concern is with your dress?”
“It’s the wrong color,” she told him and shook her skirt once more. “It should be black, not green. Black is always worn to a funeral—in civilized places, that is. And, of course, I’m upset about my father’s death.”
Tears filled Lily’s eyes again. Emotion swelled in her, robbing her of her strength. She sank to the ground, her skirt pooling around her, not wanting to put forth the effort to stand.
“We were supposed to be a family—finally—on this trip. But now Papa’s gone, and I’m alone. All alone,” she whispered. Tears tumbled down her cheeks once more. She covered her face with her hands. “This was our last chance…our last chance to be together.” After a few minutes, she sensed North move closer, his nearness somehow calming her emotions.
“Your father is dead,” North said softly, kneeling beside her. “Gone to a better place.”
Lily sniffed and lifted her head.
“Isn’t that your belief?” North asked gently. “That he’s in heaven among the angels, free of pain and suffering, in the presence of the Holy Spirit?”
“You’re a Christian?” She swiped the tears from her face with the backs of her hands, unable to keep the surprise from her voice.
“I know God.” North waved his hand encompassing everything around them. “I know the spirit of the land and all things in it.”
“But—but you’re an Indian?”
“I’m a lot of things,” he told her.
North closed his hand over her arm. Heat seeped through the fabric of her sleeve, oozing outward, filling her with warmth.
He looked directly into her eyes. “Your father is at peace. Rejoice in his place in heaven. Don’t wish him into the torment of this earth again.”
Lily gazed into his eyes—rich, dark eyes that seemed to peer into her soul and, somehow, lift her burden. Almost magically, a sense of peace filled her. Her problems drifted away as if they were feathers on the breeze.
“Thank you for your kindness,” she whispered. “You’ve made me feel so much better.”
“It’s the same way I talk to my horses.” North rose and said. “But horses have more sense than to come out onto the prairie alone and get themselves in such a dangerous situation.”
It took a few seconds before his words sank in.
“Are you saying I don’t have as much sense as a horse?” she demanded. Lily scrambled to her feet. “How dare you! You don’t even know me, nor do you have the slightest idea of what sort of person I am, yet you have the gall to stand there and—”
“We have to go back to the fort,” he said and reached for her arm.
Lily jerked away. “I have no intention of going anywhere with you.”
“It’s a longer walk back than you think. It will be dark soon.”
She squared her shoulders, a strength she hadn’t felt a moment ago suddenly filling her. “I’ll manage, thank you just the same.”
He gestured toward the horizon and the orange glow of the setting sun. “Coyotes prowl at sundown. There’re snakes.”
Lily drew in a great breath. “I’ll go back to the fort when I choose. And I’ll get there on my own.”
“You won’t make it,” North said, anger creeping into his voice. “Most of the men at the fort will end up out here searching for you, risking their own lives.”
And she wasn’t worth it, his look seemed to say.
A sickly feeling wound through Lily’s stomach, shame that this man thought so little of her. Memories of the weeks on the Trail came back to her, the other women caring for their families, tending to them with practiced ease. She’d been unprepared for the journey. She’d known it from the start. She still knew it. But, somehow, seeing that look on North’s face hurt worst of all.
“I don’t need your help,” Lily said, holding up her chin.
A long moment dragged by while North just looked at her. Finally, he simply nodded.
“Fine,” he said, then mounted his horse and headed toward the fort.
Lily gasped and her eyes rounded at the sight of him riding away. He was leaving her? Actually riding away? Abandoning her here so far from the fort, in the middle of nowhere?
“Wait!” She ran after him. “Stop!”
She caught up with him. North rested his hand on the saddle horn and glared down, the brim of his hat shading his eyes.
“You’re—you’re not going to leave me out here, are you?” she exclaimed. She drew herself up, thinking of the nastiest thing she could call him. “You, Mr. Walker, are no gentleman.”
He gave her a long, slow once-over that sent a strange warmth flooding through her. Heat crept up her neck and onto her cheeks, then arrowed downward to the center of her belly. Still, Lily refused to look away.
Finally, North shook his head, almost to himself, and climbed down from the horse.
Relieved, but still clinging to her pride, Lily said, “I decided that it would be prudent to accept your offer and—Oh!”
North grasped her waist and hoisted her upward, plopping her into the saddle. Lily grasped a handful of mane to keep from tumbling backward off the other side, then glared down at him. He glared right back.
An odd warmth leaped from him, covered her, touched her in strange places. She’d assumed he thought her worthless, but the look on his face made her feel as if—
Lily broke eye contact, afraid—but of what she wasn’t sure.
North picked up the reins, then reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out his handkerchief. He held it up to Lily.
Stunned, she looked at it for a moment. The white, pressed linen fabric. His big hard long fingers. She’d complained earlier that she had no handkerchief.