Wind Rider Read Free

about it,” Wind Rider promised. “Is there water nearby?”
    “There’s a stream a short distance away. Can you walk?”
    “You will help me,” Wind Rider said, clutch ing her thin shoulders. Her bones felt so fragile beneath his huge hands, he could easily crush them with his fingers. He wasn’t certain her slight weight could support him, but it did, giving him the impression that she was stronger than she appeared. He allowed her to pick up her sack, and they started off toward the stream.
    Wind Rider sat gingerly on the bank of the stream while Hannah stared at his thigh in utter fascination. She had never seen so much of a man’s body before, except for her younger brothers, and they didn’t count. She grudgingly admitted his body was magnificent, though his proud, handsome features were as fierce as any she’d ever seen. Stark and noble, savage, yet somehow different from what she had expected Indians to look like. Stranger still were his sil ver eyes. Could he be a half-breed? she won dered, regarding him from the corner of her eye. If he was, he certainly gave no indication that he possessed a drop of white blood.
    “I will soak my leg in the river while you gather wood to start a fire,” Wind Rider told her. “Once the bullet is removed you will need to cauterize the wound. Do not attempt to run away,” he cautioned when her expression turned speculative. “Even wounded I can run faster than you.”
    Hannah didn’t doubt him for a moment. It didn’t take long to gather sticks of wood and dried grass. When she set the pile before Wind Rider he removed his flint from the parfleche he carried at his waist and struck a spark that caught immediately. “Wash your hands in the stream,” he said, thrusting his knife directly into the fire. “Cheyenne maidens have more pride than to abuse their bodies with filth. Do you never bathe?”
    Hannah’s lips thinned resentfully. “You know nothing about me and certainly have no right to judge me.” Nevertheless, she knelt beside the stream and washed the grime from her hands. When she returned to Wind Rider’s side he handed her the knife, staring at her strangely.
    The woman didn’t recognize him, Wind Rid er thought as he pulled the crude bandage of leaves from his wound. But he remembered her. No man could look into those compelling green eyes and forget her. He knew she was an indentured servant and a whore, that she sold her body to men for money and, from what he had observed in Denver, was abused by her master. She was skinny and plain, and no decent Cheyenne warrior would look on her with desire or wish to lie with her.
    “The bullet,” Wind Rider said, gripping her arm as she accepted the knife with marked reluctance. “And do not make the mistake of thinking I am incapable of swift retaliation should you decide to attempt something fool ish.”
    Hannah tore her gaze from the icy menace in the Indian’s cold eyes, thinking him per fectly capable of reacting swiftly and cruelly. She gazed down at the swollen flesh surround ing the wound and shivered. She had no idea how to go about removing the bullet; it seemed almost a sacrilege to mar that smooth bronze flesh more than it already was.
    “Do it!” Wind Rider gritted from between clenched teeth. His brutal grip on her arm tightened.
    Wincing in pain, Hannah uttered a silent prayer and pierced his flesh with the tip of the knife. Hannah gagged and turned away, but the pressure on her arm increased until she was forced to return to her loathsome task. She spared a fleeting glance at Wind Rider, amazed that he could bear the pain without uttering a sound or passing out. He held his leg absolutely still beneath her unskilled probing.
    White beneath the bronze planes of his face, his expression gave away nothing of the agony he was suffering. All the while she worked over him, he watched through slitted eyes, fully prepared to intervene should she attempt something reckless.
    “I feel the