nodded grimly. “Yeah, she hasn’t had enough to eat for a long time.”
“Well, you just never mind, Poppy will fix her up. I’ll take care of that poor chile. She’ll be a part of our family, just like you are, Sergeant McCoy.”
“Thanks, it means a lot to me.”
The laundress grinned. “I know it does. I can see she’s something special to you.”
Gib nodded and turned away, heading for the scout area. The scouts on duty that day were usually up by this time, working on their weapons. Today, it was Two Toes and Jemez who had the duty.
Chee had assigned the last tent nearest the horse line to Kuchana. Gib came to a halt at the head of the tent where the flap had been drawn aside and saw that Kuchana was still soundly asleep, clutching a fist-size rock.
It bothered him that she felt she had to have some kind of weapon to protect herself even here, but he couldn’t blame her. The Yavapai hated the Apache and had a reputation for slitting the throats of their enemy under the cover of darkness.
As he crouched down, Gib eyed Kuchana’s sleeping features. Her flesh wasn’t as taut, and there was some color in her cheeks. Her thick, black hair, no longer bound by the cotton headband, lay about her shoulders like a blanket. She reminded him of a finely bred horse—lean, proud and delicate. Her lips were parted in sleep, and he wondered what it would be like to kiss her, to explore the texture of her mouth beneath his.
Chee had issued her only one blanket, and he frowned, knowing she should have been given at least three. Kuchana had placed the blanket on the ground and curled up in a fetal position to remain warm during the cool night. Today, he would make sure she was issued a full billet.
He was about to awaken Kuchana when he saw tears bead and form on her lashes. Putting the mugs aside, he reached down and gave her shoulder a shake.
Kuchana hissed, jerking upright, rock poised in hand. Her eyes widened when she realized it was McCoy. “I—I’m sorry,” she rasped, her voice thick with sleep. She dropped the rock. Tears trailed down her cheeks and she tried to wipe them away before the sergeant saw them.
“Hold on,” he ordered quietly. “What’s the reason for the tears?”
Embarrassed, Kuchana kept her eyes on the ground between them. “It was a dream.”
Gib took one of the cups and handed it to her. “Here’s some chicory coffee. Go on, take it.” The high color in her cheeks told him that she was shamed by her tears. Gib picked up the second cup and sipped the liquid, remaining in his crouched position.
Chicory coffee was a rare treat for Kuchana. She managed a nod of thanks, holding the cup with both hands. Why hadn’t she heard the sergeant approach? Had her sleep been so profound that Two Toes could have sneaked into her tent and killed her? Usually, her sleep was light and watchful.
“Looks like you were sleeping hard,” Gib said conversationally. He had an urge to reach out and tunnel his fingers through her shining ebony hair.
“Too hard,” she muttered unhappily, drinking the coffee with relish.
“You were tired.” Tired from months of running, he thought. The army and the Mexican soldatos had been pursuing Geronimo and his people without rest for nearly six months. And Kuchana was proof of that.
“It is no excuse. I should not sleep like that. It could get me killed.” In the distance Kuchana heard the soft snort of horses, the clank of bits, the creak of saddles. A number of soldiers were up and about performing their daily duties. Chee and one of the other scouts came up to the horse line, saddling their mounts. There wasn’t much to like about Chee, Kuchana had decided. He was a swaggering, bragging male, more wind than courage, in her estimation. Chee was not a warrior. In fact, none of the scouts wore the third braid.
The tears were drying on her cheeks, and Gib searched for a way to find out more about their cause. “You said there wasn’t much of your family left since Geronimo escaped the reservation.”
A pain stabbed deeply into her heart at his words, and Kuchana bowed her head. “I have only one sister left.” The words came out low and strained.
“Was that what you were dreaming about?”
The question was gently put, and Kuchana lifted her chin, holding his gaze. McCoy had harsh features, but he was truly sensitive to others’ feelings. “I…it was of her daughter that I dreamed.”
“Oh?”
“Her daughter went to the Big Sleep just before I left.”
“And that’s the reason you came here?”
“Yes. There was not enough food…” She sniffed, taking her sleeve and wiping the tears off her face. Kuchana prayed that none of the other scouts saw her behaving like this. Looking at McCoy, she wondered at the tenderness she saw burning in the depths of his blue eyes. His look gave her a sense of safety she had never known. With a wry grimace, she muttered, “You pull my feelings out of me, Sergeant. I am not used to a man doing this.”
“I’m sorry the child died, Kuchana.” He held her wavering gaze. “As for drawing feelings out of you, all I can say is that’s good, as far as I’m concerned. I want to know how my scouts feel.” When he saw her nod, he added, “When we’re alone like this, call me Gib. I don’t like a lot of formality.”
The compassion in his voice told her much. “Does your name mean something?”
He smiled and shook his head. “I’m afraid not. My mother named me after my grandfather and great-grandfather.”
Just talking with Gib eased the pain and anxiety she carried for her people. The warmth of his husky voice was balm to her grieving heart. “Tell me your family name.”
“Gibson Justin McCoy.”
“You carry the spirit of your family with you?”
“Yes, I guess I do.” He paused. “Kuchana has something to do with water.”
She felt heat flood her cheeks and she lowered her lashes. The warmth Gib established with her was profound and new. He made her heart open like a blossom in the spring. “It means ‘woman of the waters.‘”
“Then you must feel things strongly and deeply, like water.”
With a little laugh, Kuchana said, “Too deep.”
She was beautiful when she laughed. Her eyes, dark brown with gold flecks in their depths, sparkled. And her mouth…Gib took a deep, steadying breath. When her lips curved upward, she reminded him of a sunrise.
“I don’t think it’s wrong to feel things deeply,” he countered thickly.
The burning light in his eyes made Kuchana vividly aware of herself as a woman. Just the way Gib looked at her, she felt special—and beautiful.
“Well,” he said, straightening, “you’re a woman of the waters. I think it’s a good thing. Feelings are not a sign of weakness.”
She shook her head. How odd, a man who approved of feelings.
“We’ve got plenty of things to do this morning,” Gib began. “Why don’t you get something to eat over at the chow tent and then meet me at the stables? I’m having your mare shod and then we’ll find a saddle that fits her.”
“I’ll see you at the stables,” Kuchana agreed.
Wind had already been shod with her first set of shoes by the time Kuchana made her way to the massive stabling area. There were buildings housing dried hay and grain for the hundreds of horses that milled in the huge corrals at the rear of the buildings. She found Gib with a red-haired giant of a man who had a worn leather apron draped around his thick middle.
“This is Kuchana,” McCoy told the farrier, Kelly McManus.
McManus thrust his big meaty hand in