"Exciting! Fascinating! Strong! Authentic!"

— Cassie Edwards

"White Flame is a wonderful, romantic read filled with adventure and action; characters who are full of depth and a mystical story . . . Ms. Edwards weaves a page-turning adventure."

— Romantic Times-Sensual, November Issue
Rated 4 ½ stars and a suggested TOP PICK

Back Cover:

Searching for her missing father, the determined Emma O'Brien set out for Fort Pierre on the Missouri River, but when the steamboat upon which she was traveling went aground, she was forced to travel on foot. Braving the wilderness, the feisty beauty was soon seized by Indians. Surrounded by enemies, Emma learned that only Striking Thunder could grant her release.

A Passion Unleashed

The handsome Sioux chieftain offered her freedom but enslaved her with a kiss. He took her to his village. There, underneath the prairie's starry skies, Emma learned the truth. The danger Striking Thunder represented was greater than the pre-war bonfires of the entire Sioux nation--and the passion he offered burned a whole lot hotter.

Excerpt:

St. Louis, 1848

U.S. Major Grady O'Brien stared at a portrait of a young woman with misty-green eyes. His fingers gripped the edge of the mantel, his knuckles white as the cool marble. Grief swept through him. "Margaret Mary, don't hate me for what I must do." Pain laced his whispered words.

Footsteps vibrated across the wooden parlor floor, intruding on his private moment of pain. "You're a fool, Grady."

Grady glanced over his shoulder at his sister. "Ida, please. We've been through this." His eyes burned with remorse.

"Then listen to me. Forget this foolish notion. The army doesn't need you as much as your children do." She moved into the room and stood beside him.

Grady's gaze strayed back to the portrait of his deceased wife. His vision blurred at the thought of never hearing her sweet laughter or being able to gaze into eyes alight with love. Somewhere overhead, the wooden floorboards creaked. The sound echoed the breaking of his heart. How could he go on without her? A hand touched his shoulder.

"Please, Grady. Give yourself more time. It's only been two weeks since Margaret Mary, bless her sweet soul, passed on. The pain will ease. Don't leave. Your children need you."

Grady leaned his head against the back of his hands for a moment, then straightened. "No," he whispered, "they don't need me. They have you."

Ida arched her narrow brows. "Emma barely understands her mother is gone. Do you honestly expect her to understand your disappearance as well?" Folding her arms across her ample bosom, she waited.

Frustrated, wanting only to be left alone, Grady rammed his fingers through thick waves of bright, golden-red hair that fell in waves to his shoulders. "Dammit, I'm not deserting her. I'll be back." He turned his back on Ida. Shame ran through him. She was right. He was abandoning his children — but not forever he promised himself — just until the pain of his loss dulled.

She didn't understand, but how could she? Nearly ten years his senior, she'd never married, didn't know the pain of having her heart ripped out from her or the bleak despair of losing part of her very soul.

"When?" Her voice grew quiet.

He glanced at her over his shoulder. She waited, back straight, hands loosely clasped in front of her and lips pressed into a tight disapproving line, reminding him of an old spinster schoolmarm. Though he knew she loved him in her own way, had been more mother than sister to him, he couldn't stay, not even for her. He answered honestly. "I don't know."

Ida turned away. Silence filled the room. Finally, she shook her head. "You're running again, Grady, using the army as an excuse not to stay and face your grief." She whirled around. "Just as you did when Father and Mother died in that fire. You ran then, joined the Army the day after the funeral. Mark my words, if you return to duty, you'll never come back. You'll never stop running."

Grady wandered to the window and stared out, not seeing the carriages and citizens bustling about their business. "Maybe it's better this way," he whispered, his voice low, barely audible.

"Better for whom? Emma will be devastated."

He closed his eyes, his throat burning at the very thought of leaving his little princess, the ray of sunshine in his life, but he couldn't bear to look into eyes so like her mother's. "I'll hurt her far worse if I stay." He straightened when he heard a carriage stop out front.

"Grady--"

He swivelled around, once more the stern major his men knew so well. "No more. It's time."

Ida tipped her chin, her eyes bright but determined. "I'll fetch Emma. You won't steal out of her life like a thief in the night." Her skirts rustled as she left the elegantly-appointed parlor.

Grady donned a travel coat over his military uniform and left the room his wife had loved. After seeing to the loading of his bags, he went into his den to await Ida. Picking up a neatly folded sheaf of papers, he tucked them into the inside pocket of his coat then poured himself a brandy. He dreaded telling his small daughter good-bye. Before his wife's death, they'd been close, spending every evening together reading or playing games, but the loving and devoted father he'd once been had died the day fever had cruelly snatched his wife from him.

He leaned against the book-filled shelves behind his desk and closed his eyes. He felt cold and empty inside. There was nothing left to give Emma, or the infant. No, he was doing the right thing. The girls were better off with Ida. They needed a mother figure. A moan slipped past his lips. If only Margaret Mary had lived to rejoice in the birth of another daughter. If only. . .

At the sound of running feet, he downed the remainder of brandy in one gulp. He turned when a small girl of eight burst into the room, a frilly-dressed doll under each arm. She skidded to a stop before his massive oak desk.

"Papa, tis tea time. Will you join me?"

Grady clenched his fists at his side and stared into eyes sparkling with misty laughter. Waves of pain swelled and crested. He slammed the glass down on the desk.

Emma backed away, her eyes wide and fearful. "I'm sorry for running in the house, papa. I forgot the rules--again."

Her voice, small, full of hurt and fear, twisted the knife in his soul.His thoughtless reaction to her childish exuberance only proved how unfit a father he was without his loving wife at his side. He forced a smile to his lips and knelt in front of his first-born. "No, child. I'm not angry."

Grady drew a deep breath. His gaze roamed over her delicate features as he memorized hair the same shade as his, creamy skin, rose-tinted cheeks and eyes the shade of dew-kissed shamrocks on a misty morning. Those bright eyes shone with the same love of life as her mother's had until death dimmed them forever.

Emma clutched her dolls and regarded him solemnly. "Then you'll have tea with me?"

Staring into those earnest depths, filled with uncertainty and hope, he knew they would forever haunt his dreams. His fingers trembled as he cupped her face between his large calloused palms. "No, my precious, papa cannot stay."

Noting her father's attire for the first time, Emma's brows furrowed. "Are you going out, papa?"

"Yes, child. Papa must go away."

She pouted, then brightened. "But you'll be back very soon," she announced with certainty. Then she glanced at him coyly. "And you'll bring me a surprise?"

Grady fingered one red curl. His voice cracked. "Papa will be gone for a long time, Emma." He smoothed her wrinkled brow but before he could reassure her of his love, Ida spoke from the hall.

"A mistake, if you ask me." She entered, a tiny blanketed bundle in her arms.

Standing, Grady picked up his military hat. He avoided looking at his sister or the infant. "We've said all that's to be said."

"Then it needs saying again. You're a fool." She blocked his escape and thrust the wiggling bundle into his resisting arms. "The babe needs a name."

His hat fell to the floor as he reluctantly cradled his newborn daughter for the first time. He thought his heart had shattered completely the day he'd buried Margaret. But when those intent blues blinked open without warning to stare at him, he knew he was wrong, so very wrong. Grady fingered the crown of peach-soft, golden-red fuzz. Tears slipped from his eyes, blurring his sight.

Margaret Mary had chosen Anna for a girl baby, but before he could speak it aloud, another name came to mind. "Ranait," he whispered. "Her name is Ranait, after our mother." His breathing quickened when the infant turned toward him as if recognizing her name. Her tiny bow-shaped lips puckered as she rooted, searching for nourishment. A tiny balled fist caught him on his chin.

Grady felt his resolve slipping. He had to leave, now. He swallowed past the lump in his throat then knelt to place the baby in Emma's small arms. "You're a big girl now, Emma. Promise papa you'll be good and always look after your sister."

His throat tightened when she nodded uncertainly, her bright gaze clouded with confusion. Grady caressed one lock of long hair then pulled his knife from his belt. He cut the tight red curl clinging to his finger, put the knife away then ran a finger down her soft cheek. She looked frightened by the strained undercurrents surrounding the adults. Bending forward, he kissed her forehead. "Papa loves you, Emma. Remember always." With one last caress to the baby's head, he stood. "Call her Renny," he choked before fleeing the room.

"Papa! Don't leave," Emma cried, her voice high, tight.

Grady didn't reply. He ran out the front door to the waiting carriage. As he rode away with the silky soft curl wound around his finger, he glanced back then wished he hadn't. The sight of Emma standing on the front steps, the infant cradled in her arms, burned itself indelibly in his memories.

CHAPTER ONE

Late Summer, Nebraska Territory 1856

Emma O'Brien stared at her sketch pad in disgust. The tall cottonwoods she'd drawn lining the banks of the Missouri River loomed dark and sinister. Glancing at the bank for comparison, she noted sunlight filtering through the spread boughs, falling across the bank and river in thin golden streaks. A perfectly peaceful setting. Nothing like what she'd captured on paper. Her own frustrations had colored her work. Crumbling the paper, she stood.

A cool breeze washed over her as she put away her supplies and drew on her gloves. Too frustrated and restless to sit still any longer, she sent one last disgusted glance over the rail into the shallow murky-brown water of the river then left the rail. The steamboat Annabella was grounded — again. Crossing the deck, she addressed the captain. "How long will we be delayed this time, Captain Billaud?" She waved one pristine, white-gloved hand toward the sandbar and tapped the end of her parasol on the spotless wooden deck.

The pilot, a small rotund Frenchman, with a thick black beard, frowned briefly, then beamed. "No more than a few hours," he said, his accent as thick as the muddy bottom of the Missouri. Seeing Emma's dismay, he added, "We shall warp over this sandbar and be on our way--like that!" He snapped his stubby fingers.

Emma allowed herself an unladylike snort. She'd heard that platitude more times than she cared to recall since boarding the Annabella over two months ago.

Captain Billaud patted her hand. "You shall see your papa very soon, ma cherie. Be patient. The Missouri, she's like a female, no? One day she's right where she should be and the next? Voila! Gone. Picks herself up and moves while we sleep."

Emma stared at the sluggish river with distaste. Never had she seen or heard of a more contrary river.

The pilot wiped beads of sweat from his face, then tipped his hat. "I must see to my duties, Miss Emma. Go below, leave this heat. It is not good for a beautiful young lady to remain in the sun so long." He patted her gloved hand in a fatherly fashion then strode away, a white handkerchief sticking out of his back pocket like a flag.

Emma listened dispassionately as he shouted out orders for a rope to be tied to a tree along the bank. She knew from witnessing this procedure many times that the other end would be wrapped around the capstan on the bow, which allowed the steamboat to pull itself off the sand bar. Biting her lower lip, she swallowed her disappointment at yet another delay. The trip from St. Louis to Fort Pierre should have taken fifty-one days, but one problem after another had slowed the boat's progress up the Missouri River. They were now three weeks behind schedule.

Worry churned through her mind like a paddle wheel agitating the water. They had to reach the fort before her father left. In his latest letter, the colonel had indicated he'd be at the fort until the end of summer, then would head West to Fort Laramie for the winter. By her reckoning, they had a little over a week, give a day or two.

Hooking her parasol over the railing, Emma pulled out the worn letter from the pocket of her navy-blue woollen dress. She scanned her father's boldly penned missive. Like the rest of his correspondence, the page was filled with news of his career, and ended as always, with a bid for her to take care of Renny.

Dropping her hand to the wooden rail, Emma stared out across the water at the stand of cottonwoods lining the bank. As the sun dipped low in the sky, the huge trees cast deep angled shadows across the river, encroaching on the remaining light on the water, much like the bitterness welling inside her heart. While she'd accepted a long time ago that she wouldn't have a father figure in her life, it wasn't fair to Renny.

Over the last year, she'd written several times, begging him to come home and take up parental duties for Renny's sake, but his answer was always the same: the Army needed him. And those words cut deeply. They needed him, too. Mentally, Emma kicked herself for believing that this time, given the circumstances, the colonel might actually put his daughter's needs above his military career. But duty to others came first. Emma folded the letter carefully and slid it back into her pocket.

She squeezed her eyes shut. At seventeen, the crushing pressure of playing mother and father to her nine-year-old sister weighed her down. Emma had never forgotten the promise she'd made to her father. Nor had she resented the sacrifices she'd been forced to make to keep that promise. But since their aunt's death six months ago, Renny had grown surly and unmanageable and Emma, at her wits end, had turned to a father who wanted no part of their lives. Fool that she was, she'd admitted to needing him for the first time since he'd walked out the door, leaving her holding her baby sister. And once again, he'd turned his back on her.

Emma's gaze narrowed with contempt. As far as she was concerned, Grady O'Brien could stay away forever. In nine years, he'd never come back, and if it wasn't for Renny who desperately needed and wanted a father's reassurance and love, she'd never have left her home to travel through this wild untamed land to try and force him to return home and resume his paternal duties.

Once again, her attention wandered to the men hard at work trying to free the boat before sundown. Now she wished she'd left sooner, not waited so long, but her plan had been to arrive at the fort and catch her father between assignments. If he had to escort them home, it would be too late for him to leave for Fort Laramie. And if he stayed the winter with them in Saint Louis, perhaps he'd stay for good.

And if he refused? Emma rubbed her eyes. If he refused, then she'd have to find a way to ease Renny's hurt. Discouraged that all her careful planning might have been for nought, Emma straightened, pulled at her gloves and left the railing, clutching the unopened parasol Aunt Ida insisted a young woman always carry. Lifting her skirts, she went downstairs to see what mischief Renny was getting into.

It came as no surprise to find the cabin she and Renny shared empty. She tossed her parasol onto the bed, having a pretty good idea where to find her errant sister--in the stable area below. Sure enough, she found Renny in the steerage, caring for horses that belonged to a contingent of soldiers also traveling to Fort Pierre. Her gaze traveled over the men sitting around a bale of hay, playing cards. Sniffing the air, she caught the scent of alcohol. Definitely not a place for a young impressionable child. And one glance at the girl's disheveled appearance confirmed she'd been down here most of the afternoon instead of doing her studies.

Renny, unaware of Emma's presence, continued to chatter away to the captain leaning against the wall. Folding her gloved hands in front of her, Emma spoke in her firmest voice. "Ranait, it's rude to intrude upon the captain and his men. You've taken up enough of their time for one day."

Captain Derek Sanders, a tall blond man in his mid-thirties pushed away from the wall and stepped forward with a warm smile. He removed his hat. "Good afternoon, Miss Emma. I assure you that your delightful young sister is no trouble. In fact, you are both welcome to join me anytime."

Emma smiled politely. The captain was a handsome man, tall and fit, always neatly attired and groomed with clean, short nails, and hair most women would kill for. Blond and glossy, he kept it short, the ends just brushing against the collar of his uniform. "That's very kind of you, Captain, but Renny mustn't neglect her studies."

Derek brushed his fingers over his moustache and smiled, his voice a low seductive hum for her ears only. "You're a breath of fresh air to this weary soldier, Miss Emma. It will be a pleasure to have two beautiful ladies visiting at the fort."

Emma lowered her gaze, embarrassed yet thrilled at his flowery compliment. She pulled at her gloved fingers. "That's very kind of you, Captain Sanders."

Derek stopped her nervous fidgeting by taking her fingers firmly in his firm grasp. Lifting one hand to his lips, he pressed his lips to her gloved palm. "Merely the truth, Miss Emma."

She glanced warily at him. Was he making fun of her? He stepped closer. His soft, honey-brown eyes reminded her of a soulful puppy. Her heart raced at the desire in his eyes.

"I think I'm falling in love with you, Emma. I hope you'll allow me to get to know you?"

Flustered by his boldly stated feelings, Emma pulled her hands from his grasp and turned to watch Renny brushing down a chestnut mare. "There's much for me to consider, Captain Sanders."

Derek clasped his hands behind his back, his gaze following hers. "Ah, yes, your young sister. As I said, a delightful child."

Emma lifted one brow. "My dear, Captain. I fear you've taken in too much sun." Delightful was not a word she'd choose to describe Renny of late. Headstrong, willful and rebellious jumped to mind; right now, her sister looked like an abandoned urchin. Bits of straw clung to her soiled pinafore, and her hair hung loose, the neat braids long gone. Searching the straw on the floor, Emma spotted one lone blue ribbon. The other one was nowhere to be seen. She sighed. "Appearances can be deceiving, Captain. You have not seen Renny at her worst. I fear her escapades have sent many a brave man running."

Derek laughed softly and twisted the ends of his mustache. "Ah, my dear Miss Emma. I am not most men. Do not worry about me. I can handle a mere child. In fact, I find her high spirits quite amusing and entertaining."

Emma smoothed the wrinkles from her skirt then folded her hands demurely to still their nervous trembling. "Time will tell, Captain. Since my aunt passed away, I fear Renny has grown even more headstrong." A wistful sigh escaped at the thought of never seeing her beloved Aunt Ida again. How she missed her. Though she'd become fragile with age, giving over the running of the household and the raising of Renny to Emma, she'd remained a calming effect on the headstrong young girl.

Renny had been a happy and content child without their father. But as the years passed, and as she observed her friends and their families, Renny had become more aware and concerned with the absence of their father. The sporadic letters and gifts along with the empty promises that he'd return when his duty was over no longer appeased or fooled her. Emma's lips twisted at the bald-faced lie. Colonel Grady O'Brien's tour of duty would never be over.

Putting the bitter thoughts from her mind, she watched her sister, noting how happy she seemed as she groomed the horses. A far cry from the sullen and rebellious child of late. Remembering her own early childhood, the horses she'd had and the time she and her father had spent riding, she frowned. At Renny's age, she'd had her own horse and had loved to defy convention and ride bareback.

But her father's abandonment and the early responsibility forced upon her had been the end of that. Aunt Ida hadn't seen reason to incur the expense of maintaining a stable when they could just as easily walk or hire a coach. But now that Emma knew how much Renny loved horses, she decided to purchase a pair for them to ride when they returned to St. Louis. If caring for the huge beasts put the sparkle of happiness back in Renny's eyes, she'd provide her with a whole stable full!

"Miss Emma?" Derek's voice drew attention back to him. "I'd be honored if you'd join me for a turn around the deck."

Emma reluctantly shook her head. "Thank you, Captain, but I'm afraid I must take Renny back to our cabin."

He bowed low. "Very well. Perhaps you'll find it in your heart to honor a poor, lonely soldier with your company later this evening?"

Emma made a noncommittal response then hustled a complaining Renny up the stairs, eager to get away from the group of staring soldiers, especially the captain. It wasn't that she objected to his attentions. She didn't. He made her feel attractive and special. But she didn't want to set herself up for hurt and disappointment later on. And until she saw her father, any plans for the future must be put on hold..

Back in the small, barely-larger-than a closet cabin, Emma sat Renny down and picked up a hairbrush. The girl squirmed and complained as Emma drew the brush through strands of hopelessly snarled hair. "Do sit still, Renny." She pulled out more bits and pieces of straw.

"Aw, Em. I was having so much fun. You ruin everything." Renny folded her arms across her chest and frowned.

Separating the strands into three thick bunches, Emma quickly plaited the girl's deep auburn hair into one long braid down her back, then refastened the pale blue ribbon. "I know you like being around the horses, Renny, but you really mustn't bother the captain. He's a very busy man."

Renny jumped off the edge of the narrow bed, her mouth set in a mutinous line. "Captain Sanders don't mind. He told me so." The last was spoken defiantly.

Emma turned away. "Nevertheless, we shall spend tomorrow on your studies. Your teacher will be most displeased if you return behind the other students." She held up a hand when Renny opened her mouth to protest. "That is final."

Renny pouted, her gray-blue eyes, darkening with resentment. "I bet papa isn't such a bore. When we get to the fort, I'm gonna ask him for a horse of my very own. He won't make me study or do stupid stitches all day. I hate it! I wish Aunt Ida were here. She wasn't such a bore. She let me have fun. Wait until I'm with papa. Then you can't boss me around." With that, the nine year-old ran out the door.

Emma started to follow then stopped. She knew her sister didn't mean the hurtful words. Before Aunt Ida had fallen ill, forcing Emma to take over the discipline and day to day raising of Renny, Emma had been the fun one, the one who'd snuck deserts into the nursery, or snuck her sister out to the park for some girlish fun while their aunt napped. And now, because of her authoritarian role, Renny resented her and believed their father would be more loving and fun.

Fighting pangs of hurt, Emma watched her sister run down the narrow corridor, her long braid whipping side to side. The ribbon slipped off, leaving Emma to wonder why she bothered; with her sister's hair, with this trip, with her determination to make her father see them.

How would Renny feel when they had to return home alone? Would things get worse? For like the ribbons that refused to stay in her sister's hair, Emma fully expected Colonel Grady O'Brien to slip out of his parental duties as he always had.

Derek stood on deck, deep in thought. He leaned against the railing and tuned out the shouts and commotion of the men working to get the steamboat over the sand bar. He had other things on his mind--like Colonel O'Brien's daughters. What a stroke of luck to run into them. He planned to personally deliver Emma and her pest of a sister to the colonel, then bask in the old man's gratitude. Frowning, he rubbed his smooth jaw. But would it be enough to get him the promotion he sought? The colonel was a hard man to impress. After all, he wouldn't have done anything more than arrive at the fort on the same steamboat as the girls — coincidence.

He narrowed his eyes and absently fingered his moustache. A slow smile emerged as he thought of his plan to win Emma's love. As the colonel's son-in-law, he'd have the connections he desperately needed. Anticipation lit a warm glow in his belly. With those coveted connections came wealth and power.

Yes, Emma O'Brien was the answer to his problems. While he had no desire to marry, he was a man of great ambition. And the colonel's daughter, with her clear, pale green eyes that could drown a man, creamy skin, and well-proportioned figure, would serve him well. He grimaced. Too bad she had the colonel's god-awful red hair which meant her nipples would be a pale pink, not a rich chocolate-brown as he preferred. Ah, but their size and youthful firmness would make up for that defect. Besides, in the dark, he could pretend.

He allowed his imagination to go wild. Just thinking about squeezing and suckling that tender flesh made his body swell with the anticipation of bedding her. Damn. The need for patience chafed him. He hated waiting. He was used to taking what he wanted, when he wanted, but she wasn't some Indian squaw who'd cower and do his bidding. He sighed, this time, he'd have to wed her first.

And there lay his problem. Time. He needed to coax Emma into accepting him as her future husband. In the two weeks since he'd come aboard, she'd kept her distance. Thoughtfully, he studied the working men. By the look of things, they'd be on their way sometime in the next couple of hours. Barring any more problems, they'd arrive at the fort within a week. But if the Annabella were further disabled? A glimmer of an idea formed. Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a small golden nugget, stared at it regretfully. But there was more where this one came from. He wandered over to where two workers dressed in old threadbare pants coiled ropes.

Minutes later, the deed accomplished, Derek watched the two men he'd bribed head for the paddle wheel. He was a gold nugget poorer but if all went as planned, he'd receive his promotion to Major. And once he was in charge, he'd step up his plans to rid the Black Hills of all savages. He fingered his last gold nugget. Soon he'd be free to get more nuggets and be rich beyond his wildest dreams, free to do what he pleased and go where he wanted. Forget the army.

And the women. Ah, yes. They'd seek him out.

Whistling, Derek ran his fingers over his moustache, then with hat in hand, he headed downstairs to the dining room. Someone needed to be on hand to comfort Miss Emma when she found out that the Annabella had a broken paddle wheel and would be laid up for another few days. And who better than the man who planned to marry her?

CHAPTER TWO

The next morning dawned clear and warm. Standing on the deck of the Annabella, Emma watched the half-dozen soldiers lead their horses down the plank from the steamboat to solid land then return to unload an old mud coach that belonged to the Frenchman. The horses, free from the confines of the steerage, pranced with eagerness as they were harnessed.

Emma turned to Derek. "I'm grateful you're willing to escort us to Fort Pierre. Are you sure we won't be any trouble?"

Derek clasped his hands behind his back. "A beautiful woman like you is never any trouble, Miss Emma."

Beyond the bank, lay a wild and untamed world. Emma frowned and plucked at her gloved fingers. "Is it safe to travel by coach?" Doubts assailed her. Captain Billaud had advised her not to leave the comparable safety of the boat to travel by coach to the fort. But if they waited out this latest delay, she feared her father would be long gone when they arrived. Then what? She had no intention of following him west to Fort Laramie through Indian territory.

"Be assured, Miss Emma, my men and I will see you and your sister safely delivered to the fort." Derek slid her a sly glance. "No point fretting your time away here when you can be reunited with your father before he leaves."

Emma glanced at the bank. Renny had talked one of the soldiers into letting her ride his horse. Though she had her doubts about leaving the boat, time was of essence. She had to reach the fort with no more delays and Derek's offer to escort them seemed the ideal solution. Besides, her sister was thrilled with the prospect of sleeping outdoors. Picking up her valise, she nodded. "All right. I believe we're ready." Confident that she was making the right decision, she thanked Captain Billaud for the use of his coach then allowed Derek to lead her off the boat.

Three days later, Emma wasn't so confident that leaving the Annabella had been the wisest choice; the interior of the coach was stifling, her emerald-green travel dress clung to her skin and the dust of travel filled her nostrils. To top it off, the muscles along her shoulders and back ached from nights spent sleeping on the hard, cold ground and long days confined to the coach with nothing to see.

The passing scenery was all the same. Tress and bush along the river on one side, barren and depressing land out the other. Rolling her stiff shoulders, she swallowed a moan then sneezed. Blotting her forehead daintily with a damp embroidered handkerchief, she wondered how much longer before they reach the fort.

Renny turned away from the window. "Are we nearly there, Emma?"

Emma bit back a sigh of impatience and folded her gloved hands primly in her lap. "Good heavens, Renny, you asked that very same question not more than fifteen minutes ago." Never mind that she's wondered the same thing.

"But Emma, we've been traveling ever so long. Captain Sanders promised we'd reach the fort in just two days." She wiggled on the cushioned bench, her skirts twisting beneath her.

Settling against the seat back, Emma frowned when Renny shoved her mop of tangled hair out of her eyes. Just an hour ago, the thick dark strands, had been confined to two tidy braids. "Yes, I know he did, my sweet, but that was before the axle broke. As much as I hate to contemplate it, I expect we'll be forced to spend another night on the prairie before we reach the fort."

She ignored her sister's whoop of excitement. Except for being confined in the coach for long periods, Renny was having the time of her life. Emma bit back a moan of despair. If spending another night camping made her sister happy, she'd find the strength to endure it. . . Somehow.

Renny stuck her head out the window and after a few seconds, plopped back on the seat. "It's so boring just sitting here." She sent Emma a sulky glance. "I bet Captain Sanders would let me ride up with the driver."

Emma begged the heavens for patience then adopted a no-nonsense look similar to the one her aunt had used. "Young ladies ride inside coaches. Besides, the captain's men do not need to listen to your constant prattle."

Renny crossed her arms across her thin chest and tucked her hands beneath her arms. Her jaw jutted out. "Aw Emma—"

The young girl closed her mouth when Emma lifted one brow in warning. The two sisters sat in silence for several miles before Renny drew her knees up and rested her chin on them. "Emma? Will father be angry with us?"

Emma kept her features carefully schooled to an expression of indifference for her sister's sake. Grady O'Brien would likely be extremely angry but she vowed to make sure his displeasure was directed toward her and not at Renny. She reached across the coach to pat her sister reassuringly on the knee. "Everything will be fine. Now, no more worrying."

Renny's lower lip trembled. "Father hates me."

"Ranait! What a thing to say. Father does not hate you."

Tears came into the nine-year-old's eyes. "Yes, he does! It's my fault Mama died. Jillyanne said so. That's why he went away and never came back. He blames me."

Renny's distress and quivering voice nearly broke Emma's heart. "Oh, Renny, don't say such a thing." Fury engulfed Emma. Jillyanne, several years older than Renny wasn't happy unless she was making others miserable. And the girl's mother wasn't any better. A snob and gossip, she had nothing better to do than spread vicious lies. But anger wouldn't help her sister now. Once again, Emma wondered if this trip would make things worse. Was she setting her sister up for a worse disappointment? Did Grady O'Brien truly blame his youngest daughter for their mother's death?

Staring into the eyes across from her — her father's eyes — Emma knew Renny favored their mother with the rest of her features. Though Renny's were a bluish-gray, her mouth, nose and hair color marked her their mother's daughter. Clicking her fan open, Emma pulled from memory an image of a tall man who'd been kind, gentle and loving. She recalled the bedtime stories, the kisses goodnight, twinkling gray eyes and always, a tickle to the tummy that left her giggling as sleep claimed her. What was he like now? From his letters, she envisioned a stern and forbidding military man who was all business.

Emma sighed. Their aunt had always been able to reassure her niece that their father wanted to be there but couldn't because of his military commitments. But when Aunt Ida died, Renny's secure little world had tipped. Nothing Emma said could convince her that she, Emma, would always be there for her. Renny wanted her father.

Her sister's hurt and confused voice brought Emma back from her contemplations. "Then why did he leave us? Why hasn't he been back to see us? He didn't even come to Auntie's funeral," she accused.

Emma sighed. They'd been over this more times than she could count. She gentled her voice. "You know very well he didn't learn about it until three months ago. Sometimes our letters take a very long time to reach him. Enough now. We'll see father soon." She deliberately changed the topic of conversation. "I've been thinking. Perhaps we can buy a couple of horses when we return? Would you like that?"

"Truly?" Renny breathed, her eyes bright with longing.

Emma nodded.

Renny clapped her hands. "I can't wait to see Papa and tell him I'm to have my very own horse."

Holding onto the side of the coach, Renny balanced on her knees and asked, "Em, are you going to marry Captain Sanders?"

The sudden change of topic and mood so characteristic of the energetic child caught Emma off guard. "Ranait, mind your manners! I hardly know the man. He simply agreed to take us to the fort." Her voice sounded sharper than she'd intended.

"Well, I like him. He's got horses." Again, Renny shifted positions, this time to sit on her knees and peer out the window. "I see him." She waved.

Emma wasn't sure how she felt about Derek Sanders. Part of her thrilled to his attentions, yet she was afraid to let herself hope in case he rejected her as so many other suitors had when they found out that marriage to her meant taking on Renny.

Hiding her lower face behind her fan, Emma allowed herself a smug grin when she recalled several times when the prospect of raising Renny had sent less-than-desirable prospective suitors running. But not the captain. She sighed. Maybe, maybe this time, it would be different. Hope stirred deep inside her heart. Derek had made his intentions clear, even if he was getting rather pushy with it. Perhaps she'd give him a chance. She did find him attractive. Catching sight of his broad shoulders as he rode past, she waved the fan a bit faster.

Renny continued to bounce around. Emma drew her brows together in her sternest glare and snapped her fan closed. "Renny, do sit still. Young ladies don't squirm and wiggle about." As usual, her reprimand fell on deaf ears. The girl's youthful energy knew no bounds and sorely tried the patience of a saint.

"Ranait!"

"Oh, Emma, you sound just like Aunt Ida." Renny flounced back against the leather seat with a pout. But a half-hour later, the young girl's eyes grew heavy and drifted shut.

Grateful for the blessed silence, Emma closed her eyes and despite the jarring ride, she, too, dozed, dreaming about the handsome captain. She woke hours later when the coach came to a standstill.

Glancing out the window, she saw Derek approaching. When the door opened, she sighed in relief. "Are we stopping for the night?"

He nodded and held out his gloved hand. Emma gratefully accepted his assistance from the torturous confines of the coach. Renny jumped down on her own, wide awake and chatting like a magpie.

Leaving the men to set camp, Emma walked down to the river, easing the tightness from her legs and back. After finding some concealing bushes to take care of her needs, she went to the water's edge and knelt down to splash the cool, revitalizing water on her face and neck. She rubbed her aching shoulders, longing for a nice hot soak in a tub. She was sick of traveling. Sick of wearing the same dress.

She brushed at the dirt and wrinkles lining her wrinkled green dress but it didn't help. Now she wished she'd kept more than two changes of clothing with her, but she hadn't expected more delays. Sitting back on her heels, she tried to still her impatience. This whole trip had been fraught with delays from the very beginning. What was another day or two?

Enjoying her solitude, she luxuriated in the peace and quiet. Across the river, a flock of birds hidden in the tree tops took to the air in wild chattering flight. Her tired gaze lowered to the deep shadows across the river. She let out a sharp gasp when Indians on horseback emerged from the shadows. Frightened by their sudden appearance, Emma jumped to her feet, picked up her skirts and ran back to camp.

"Derek!" Her voice squeaked with fright. "Look!" Pointing, she pulled his arm, interrupting his conversation with two of his men.

Derek took one look at the approaching visitors and swore. He pulled her behind him. "What the hell does he want?" He signaled his men. Rifles were drawn.

"You know him?" Emma's voice quivered when one of the savages dismounted and approached. The other four remained on horseback a short distance away.

Derek kept his gaze trained on the approaching Indian. "I know him. Wait here." He handed her over to a young private named Edmond who stepped in front of her, his body shielding hers. Another soldier joined them.

Nervous and afraid, Emma glanced around. Renny. Where was she? She breathed a sigh of relief when she spotted the child surrounded by three soldiers, all of whom had their rifles trained on the group of intruders. She returned her attention to Derek and the Indian. Fear trailed down her spine. What did these savages want? Seconds ticked into long, agonizing minutes. Emma peeked between the width of the two men's shoulders at the rag-tag group.

Never had she seen such a frightening sight. Their hair hung down over their shoulders in dull, stringy strands and their bodies bore several days worth of dirt and grime. Faced with such sinister-looking savages, she dearly regretted leaving the comparative safety of the Annabella.

But she didn't have time to bemoan the vulnerable position she'd put herself and Renny in. Heated shouts filled the air as an argument broke out between Captain Sanders and the warrior. When the fierce-looking savage glanced at her, and pointed, she shivered, instinctively sensing he wanted her..

Derek shook his head, his hand going to the pistol he wore around his waist. After a final spat of words, the angry warrior mounted his horse. With a harsh shout, he shook his fist in the air and glared at them through hate-filled eyes. Emma breathed a sigh of relief when he rode off.

After the Indians crossed the river and melded into the lengthening shadows, Derek rejoined her. "It's all right, Miss Emma. They're gone." He reached for her and drew her into his arms.

Instead of feeling comforted by his embrace, a feeling of suffocation assailed her. Derek's boldness since leaving the steamboat had grown from flattering to tedious, increasing to the point where she felt uncomfortable and rushed. She didn't understand her conflicting emotions. She pulled free, but not wanting to hurt his feelings, laid a trembling hand on his arm. "What did they want?"

"Not to worry, Miss Emma. Just a bunch of beggars. I sent them away. They won't bother us again. "

"Are you sure? Why was he pointing at me?"

Derek patted her hand then carried her fingers to his lips. "My dear, these are savages. Probably haven't seen a white woman before. Now, don't worry none. I won't allow anything to happen to the woman I hope to marry soon. Trust me, Emma. I'll take good care of you."

Emma hid her impatience at his assumptions. She hated feeling helpless and dependent on Derek, but until they reached the fort, her and Renny's lives rested in his hands. Though she felt far from reassured, she forced a smile. "Thank you, Captain. I do appreciate all you've done for us."

She turned to go, but Derek pulled her back to him. His hands cupped her face. His head lowered.

"Captain!" Her voice rose in panic.

"Derek," he breathed. "Say it, Emma. Let me hear you say my name."

Emma planted her hands against his chest, fearful of the underlying tension she felt in him. "Derek," she complied.

Satisfied, Derek smiled and touched her lips briefly with his. "You have no idea what you do to me, Emma." His hooded gaze drifted down to the tailored fit of her bodice. "I want you. When we arrive at Fort Pierre, I will ask your father's permission to wed you. Then you'll be mine--forever." Derek took her by the arm and led her away from the rest of the soldiers.

"Now, why don't you rest while my men see to supper?"

Shaken and uneasy by what felt like a threat more than a declaration of intent or love, Emma called Renny to her and gladly made her escape into their tent.

As soon as the tent flap closed behind Emma, Derek posted his men around the temporary camp, then went to the one remaining soldier tending the horses. Gus, a simple boy around nineteen did whatever Derek ordered without asking a lot of questions. "Keep your eyes open. I don't trust Yellow Dog. He's getting greedy. I'm putting you in charge of the colonel's daughters. I don't want anything to happen to them." Derek knew the boy would die protecting the girls, just because he ordered it.

"Wha'd he want?"

"Guns," Derek scoffed. His gaze hardened. And Emma. Slightly uneasy, he studied the camp, mentally calculating their weakest positions.

"Guns? "You ain't gonna give him anymore, are you?" Gus looked horrified.

Only paying slight attention to Gus, Derek scowled. In his distraction, his voice lost the refined quality he strove hard to maintain. Long ago, he'd vowed to leave poverty behind forever and live the life of a gentleman. "Hell, no. I'm no fool."

"Why's he after payment so soon? We jest gave him a bunch of stuff. Even had to give him my Pa's old huntin' knife," the young soldier grumbled.

"Yeah, well, seems he decided to kill some chief's squaw instead of just harassing the Sioux like I paid him to do. Now he wants guns to protect himself."

Gus sent a worried glance over his shoulder. "Cap'n, we didn't pay him to do no killin'—especially not some chief's squaw."

Derek stared out toward the distant hills on the far horizon. He twirled one end of his moustache into a sharp point. His plan had been for Yellow Dog to let on he was under the colonel's orders to drive out the Sioux, which was why he'd given Yellow Dog the colonel's silver belt buckle as payment. He knew the renegade Indian would brag about his prize and importance.

His voice was thoughtful as he smoothed his moustache with his thumb and forefinger. "Maybe Yellow Dog did us a favor. This should rile the Sioux enough to attack the fort. Then that damn Indian-loving colonel will have to take action and get rid them."

Gus scratched his greasy, brown hair and looked confused for a moment, then he grinned, revealing a mouth full of rotting teeth. "If they attacks us, we gets to attack them, and if we does, then we gets their women. Right, Cap'n?"

Derek shook his head at the boy's eagerness. It was a mystery to him how the boy had survived his stint in the army, but that very naivete and eagerness to please made Gus a valuable asset to Derek. All it took to keep Gus loyal was an occasional lay with a willing or unwilling squaw.

He lowered his voice. "Right. I'll even give you first choice. Now, not a word. If anyone finds out our plans, they'll take all the young maidens and leave you the old wrinkled ones."

Gus frowned. Derek gave him a none-too-gentle shove. "Get to your post, soldier. We don't want the others to get suspicious, do we?"

"No, sir." Grinning ear-to-ear, Gus dashed off to stand guard at Emma's tent.

Hands on his hips, Derek watched him. Little did the boy know, there was much more at stake than rutting with a bunch of women. Sliding his hands into the pockets of his pants, he fingered the remaining gold nugget he'd taken from a widowed squaw who'd come to the fort begging.

He'd gone to her tipi to check her out. After she'd proven her willingness to spread her legs for food — with a little encouragement, he grinned — he'd gone through her pitifully few possessions, ignoring her protests. His hands closed over the cold rock. He'd been shocked to find a pouch with several gold nuggets the size and weight he'd never before seen. Those alone would have made him a rich man, but he wanted more. After plying her with drink, she'd told him about the sacred mountains where the shiny rocks turned streams the same color.

Pleased, but not about to let anyone else learn of gold in the hills, he'd strangled her and buried her far from the fort. No one questioned the disappearance of another squaw. He narrowed his eyes. If only he could get into those hills and hunt for the gold. But not with all the Sioux there. That's when he'd come up with the idea of starting Indian wars by pitting the Arikara and the Sioux against each other. The two tribes were long-standing enemies. And if it escalated, the army would be forced to step in and he'd have the perfect excuse to drive the Indians out of the area.

So far, his plan had failed. Damn the colonel for trying to work out peace treaties with the Indians. But the colonel was due to leave soon. Derek fiddled with his moustache then chuckled softly, pleased with this new turn of events, he headed back toward camp.

When Emma and her bothersome sister emerged from their tent to eat, he sat beside them, his rifle loaded and at his side. Emma, still nervous and on edge over from Yellow Dog's earlier appearance kept glancing over her shoulder. Derek shamelessly played on her fear, hoping she'd exaggerate the scene to her father. He was determined to get what he wanted: gold.

Long before the sun rose the next morning, Derek gave the orders to break camp. Emma sensed his tension and hustled a sleepy Renny into the coach. As the coach rumbled along the uneven terrain toward the fort, she cast worried glances out the window. Her loving gaze fell to her sister, still asleep in the seat across from her. If anything happened to Renny, she'd never forgive herself. But after several uneventful hours of travel, she relaxed.

Dozing off, she woke when the wheels hit a rock, slamming her shoulder into the side of the coach. Emma moaned and rubbed the bruised flesh. The jarring bump woke Renny. She sat up and rubbed her eyes then opened her mouth. Emma held up one hand. "Don't ask. We'll get there when—"

The coach unexpectedly surged to the left. The driver sitting above their heads cracked his whip and yelled at the top of his lungs sending the coach careening forward at such speed, Emma and Renny were tossed to the floor.

"Emma?"

Renny's frightened voice penetrated the haze of pain surrounding Emma. She struggled to her knees, her head aching where she'd hit it against the door but the wild rocking of the coach made keeping her balance near impossible. "Stay down." Her own heart pounded in beat with the throbbing of her head. Hearing the sound of an approaching rider, she glanced out the window to see Gus riding hell-bent-for-leather toward them. When he drew close to the window, Emma grabbed hold of the door and stuck her head out. "What's going on—"

Suddenly, the air exploded with the sound of bone chilling screams followed by shouts and gunfire. Gus stared at her, white-faced, his eyes wide with fright. "Git down, Miss," he shouted. "We're under attack—"

His body jerked, his warning ending in a strangled cry. Emma watched in horror as he slumped forward, the feathered shaft of an arrow protruding from his back.

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