Free To Tame A Rebel by Georgina Gentry

Lighthorse, the law enforcement of his tribe. All the five Civilized Tribes had a Lighthorse patrol that kept the peace and caught and punished lawbreakers. It was ironic, he thought, that some of his old Lighthorse comrades from other tribes now rode for the Confederates and would try to kill him if they met. Yellow Jacket sighed as he thought of these good friends. He knew that Wohali, of the Cherokee, had sided with the rebels. Wohali sometimes went by a white name, Jim Eagle. Yellow Jacket was not certain what had happened to his Choctaw Lighthorse friend Talako.
    They found a draw that was overgrown with brush and out of the wind. They unsaddled their horses and hobbled them so that the animals might graze. The gray, leaden sky was now spitting snow.
    One of the younger warriors looked at Yellow Jacket. “Do we dare risk a fire?”
    Yellow Jacket started to say no, then noted that the others were rubbing their hands together and shivering. If anyone got frostbite or grew sick, their mission would be endangered. “Smoke, make us a tiny fire so we can boil some coffee and warm ourselves. We will rest until nightfall.”
    He had not realized how cold he was himself until he clutched that tin cup of strong coffee in his hands and felt the warmth. He took a deep breath of the strong scent and drank the brew gratefully. The others had already wrapped themselves in buffalo robes and curled up by the fire to sleep.
    Someone had to stand guard, and Yellow Jacket took the first watch. He had never felt as lonely or sad in his life as he did now, staring out at the frozen, barren landscape. He was chilled to the bone, but that did not matter. Many times he had been hungry or cold, but it had not kept him from doing his duty as a warrior should. He closed his eyes and saw the white woman with the smoky gray eyes just the color of twilight. Her mouth had looked soft, but her eyes, when she looked at him, had been hard. If he had her curled up naked in his blankets, she would be very warm, and he would put his face against her breasts and sleep.
    He laughed without mirth. Harvey Leland’s sister would not want to be embraced and lie naked and warm with him under his blankets. If she belonged to him, he would make her want to sleep in his arms and kiss his mouth while he stroked her full breasts. His groin ached, thinking about taking her and putting his seed in her belly in a spasm of ecstasy. Yellow Jacket awoke with a start, realizing that he had dozed off. The white woman hated Indians and was as far out of his reach as the frosty stars above him. He shook himself awake and returned to watching the stark skeletons of trees.
    After a while, Smoke awoke and took a watch. Yellow Jacket curled up and slept, and in his sleep, the white girl came to him and held out her arms.
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    At dark they rode on. The cold wind had not let up, but the quartet hunched their shoulders against the chill, watched the North Star, and kept riding. Now the wintry blast was beginning in earnest. Once, Yellow Jacket smelled smoke and signaled the others to halt. He dismounted and crept to the top of a nearby ridge. From that spot, he could see a cozy log cabin. Lantern light glowed dimly through the windows, and he smelled food cooking and saw smoke curling up against the cold sky from the chimney. White settlers. More and more whites were trespassing in the Indian Territory. It could only be a sign of what was to come, Yellow Jacket thought bitterly. Perhaps he should attack the cabin, kill the trespassers, and take the warm food.
    He crept up and looked in the window. There were a woman and small children inside. The woman was not as pretty as Twilight Dumont. The realization that he thought of the white woman back at the fort annoyed him, and he crept away, back to the waiting men. “It’s white settlers.”
    â€œAre there many men?” asked one of the others.
    Yellow Jacket shook his head. “I saw none. There