Free Dare to Dream by Debbie Vaughan Page B

went to the white man’s schools and married him a white woman, and they had made him. Times were even more unsettled back then. The Civil War came to an end but not the hard feelings. The tribes forced onto reservations would not open their arms to a white woman, much less a half-breed kid. His parents set out along with a Negro man to find a place further west. They’d never reached their destination.
    White Buffalo trailed the wagon and found it in flames, with only Will left alive, shielded by the body of the black man. He’d brought him to Charlie. His grandfather thought it would easier to be raised in a white man’s world. With his light eyes, Will could pass.
    The story involved a lot more, Will realized, but both Charlie and his grandpa seemed reluctant to elaborate. Will snorted. He’d never been brave enough to call him that to his face. The stern, overbearing Indian preferred to be called White Buffalo or occasionally allowed Grandfather. Of course, his grandfather never called him Will. William Thomas Thornton was the name his ma had written in the Bible the day of his birth. That was his white name. White Buffalo had given him his tribal name of Ghost Walking.
    What would Meghan think if she knew he was a half-breed? Most women would cross the street to avoid him if they knew. Was she like them? Charlie would have him think so.
    Whatever her story turned out to be, they’d find a way through it. He didn’t want to think about what life would be like with her gone. He’d only known her less than a week. Hell, he didn’t really know her at all. But Spirit sure took to her. He took that as a promising sign.
    Time enough to figure things out when he got back, which he planned to do as quick as possible. He’d turn around now if they didn’t need winter stores and he hadn’t promised Meghan he’d search for her friend. He made no plans to visit Miss May’s or Kathy. The woman in his sights wore hair the color of corn silk in the moonlight, not the rust red of a clay bank. She needed to get well fast. He wasn’t sure how much more self-control he kept in reserve.
    He hunkered down under his blankets thinking of pale tan thighs with silver curls between them. Closing his eyes, he remembered her scent and softness, the sound of her protests, and the sighs they turned into. He’d make her his soon, or die trying. His britches strangled him again, damn them, but relief wouldn’t be found in his hand or a whore. Only one body held the comfort he sought, and he figured she’d be worth the wait.
    He unbuttoned his pants, which provided small relief, and pushed the mule’s head away from his pillow. “Go rest, Bess and leave me be. I’ll have enough trouble sleeping tonight without you breathing down my neck.”
    He drifted off to the sound of a lonely owl and the snuffling of the mule. His dreams overflowed with images of Meghan as his subconscious built their future together. She was happy, whole, and loving, but the sunny dream soon turned ragged and dark, like a picture burned around the edges. Will tossed and turned, fighting against the encroaching threat to his love and his life.
    He awoke with a yell. Birds, startled from their slumber, cried out in protest. Will took a moment to remember where he was. The sky remained black and stars peeped from amongst the clouds, dawn nowhere near. The sweat chilled on his skin as he rearranged the feed sack and his blankets. White Buffalo put great stock in dreams. He said they were messages sent by the Fathers, warnings to be heeded. But Will couldn’t remember the dream other than he and Meghan were happy, and then his world filled with sorrow.

Chapter 12
     
    Meghan pushed herself up on her left elbow, curled her legs under her, and struggled into a sitting position. After a mental pat on the back, she swung her legs over the side of the bunk and made her way to the chamber pot. It reeked!
    With a vow to go to the outhouse next time, she hovered over the