Feather in the Wind Read Free Page B

well together, she mused as she sat down and switched on her computer.
    For a moment, she stared at the blank screen, thinking of Western movies she had seen and historical novels she had read in the past, and then, like a flood that could no longer be restrained, the story unfolded in her mind. She saw it clearly, from beginning to end. Words began to pour out of her, almost faster than she could type them.
    Four hours later, feeling pleased and weary, she sat back in her chair. It was going to be the best story she had ever written, the break-out book that would make her name a household word.
    Stretching her arms over her head, she glanced at the picture of the Indian and smiled. Tomorrow, she would have to call Vivian and tell her she had been right after all. Changing from category to historical had been just the boost she needed.
    Susannah ran a finger over the Indian’s picture. Having a handsome hunk for inspiration hadn’t hurt either.
    A breeze wafted through the open window beside her desk, stirring the feather. With a smile, Susannah picked it up and twirled it between her thumb and forefinger. The Indian who had given it to her had told her it was old. How old, she wondered? Or had he just said that? But there had been no reason for him to lie. He hadn’t been trying to coax her into buying anything. And what was all that nonsense about her being the one? She frowned. What else had he said? Something about the feather being holy and bringing her the desires of her heart.
    She ran her finger lightly over the feather, wondering why it felt warm to the touch. Little frissons of heat seemed to travel from her hand all the way up her arm to settle in the region of her heart. Maybe it really was magic…
    She shook off the notion, certain she was just being fanciful. She was a writer, after all, blessed with an extremely vivid imagination. After backing her work up on a floppy, she switched off the computer.
    She fixed a big salad for dinner, rinsed the dishes and put them in the dishwasher, took a long bubble bath. After drying off, she slipped into a long white cotton nightgown. She had ordered the gown from a Victorian catalog. It looked old-fashioned, with its high neck, long sleeves and ruffled hem.
    Feeling suddenly melancholy, she picked up the feather and slipped the rawhide loop over her wrist, then walked out into the small side yard that opened off the kitchen.
    It was a beautiful night. A cool spring breeze had blown the smog out of the city. A full moon hung low and yellow in the sky, shining like amber glass in a sea of black velvet.
    A beautiful night, she mused, meant to be shared with someone you loved. Someone who loved you…
    With a sigh, she stretched her arms over her head and gazed up at the night sky. A million stars winked back at her, as if they shared a secret she would never know.
    A faint breeze caught the feather dangling from her hand. She stared up at it, watching it rotate in the gentle wind. The black and white of the feather reminded her of the black-and-white photograph she had bought at the workshop. There had been an eagle feather in the warrior’s hair, one that looked just like this, she thought, and then grinned. Surely one eagle feather looked pretty much like another.
    Lowering her arms, she ran her finger over the feather again. The warrior in the painting had looked handsome and brave, the kind of man women dreamed of and writers brought to life in the pages of a book.
    Where was her knight in shining armor, she wondered. Where was the man of her dreams?
    With a sigh, Susannah sank down on the chaise lounge and closed her eyes, the words of an old song playing in the back of her mind.
    “Mr. Sandman, send me a dream…”
    Yes, she thought, drawing the edge of the feather across her lower lip. Send me the man of my dreams…

 
    Chapter Three
     
    With a low moan, Susannah rolled over, trying to find a more comfortable position. When had her bed gotten so hard? She