Badlands Bride. Cheryl St.John

didn’t have an Indian wife after all. The odd reassurance puzzled her. Why should she care?

      She made it clear that she’d like to try her hand at pounding the corn. Chumani cooked more kernels in the kettle, throwing ashes into the water to give it that black color. She cooked and rinsed and carried water, and Hallie’s arms and shoulders grew numb from the repetitive and painful task of grinding. By supper she could barely raise her arm to lift the bone eating utensil.

      “Miss Wainwright?”

      Hallie jerked her head up, realizing she’d been drifting off to sleep sitting at the table. “Yes.”

      “You can start earning your way,” DeWitt said.

      Irritation wailed from her tired muscles. “I thought I did that today.”

      “Did you?” Across the table he regarded her. Firelight bounced off the golden glints in his hair and shadowed the chiseled planes of his face. His cheeks showed the barest growth of stubble, like fine-grained sandpaper, and Hallie had the surprising urge to rub her knuckles across his jaw to discover its roughness.

      With concentration, she relaxed her fingers on the fork. “I helped Chumani grind the corn. I carried water and rinsed and even pounded.”

      “Chumani’s done that alone for years.”

      “Well, I—I...” Unexplainably, his words hurt her. She’d failed to win his approval even though she’d learned quickly and shared a good portion of Chumani’s work. Why was his approval or disapproval important?

      She was trying too hard, as usual. “I thought I was helping,” she said, carefully hiding her disappointment.

      “You owe me. Don’t forget that.”

      How could she forget a mistake like that?

      “One of the reasons I sent for a wife was so Yellow Eagle would have someone to teach him to read and write.”

      She set down her fork and glanced at the boy. He stiffened immediately. The worried look he shot Cooper turned into a glare when he regarded her.

      “And the other reasons?” she asked.

      DeWitt took the last bite of his supper and washed it down with coffee. “My business has grown fast. I can’t keep track of orders and payments and shipments like I should.”

      “You need a bookkeeper?”

      “Yes.”

      She regarded Yellow Eagle. He had pursed his lips and sat defiantly, staring at his plate. “I’ll need his cooperation if I’m going to teach him.”

      “He’ll cooperate,” DeWitt assured her.

      Yellow Eagle said something in a tone that told her he had no intention of cooperating. DeWitt spoke back and the boy’s face reddened. He refused to look at either of them.

      “He will cooperate,” DeWitt said pointedly.

      Hallie didn’t know which of them would be more difficult to work with; the contemptuous nephew or his obstinate uncle. But she’d gotten herself into this mess; she would get herself out of it. If earning her keep and being able to pay him back so that she could get home meant swallowing a little pride and adhering to his demands, she could do it.