White Fire

“Samuel Dowling?”

A smooth, deep voice caused him to stop and look over at Colonel Frederick Russell, the commandant of Jefferson barracks.

But his gaze did not linger for long on the tall, lanky, middle-aged man. It was the girl standing at his side that drew his quick attention.

White Fire’s heart skipped a beat, for never had he seen anyone so beautiful. With her long, flaming red hair hanging in deep waves over her shoulders, and her green eyes smiling at him in a most flirtatious way, her lashes fluttering, he was taken aback and suddenly at a loss for words.

But he quickly reminded himself of the girl’s age. He had heard his mother and father discussing the child, remarking how pretty she was, and commenting on how mature and well developed she was for her age of ten.

“Samuel, I wish to again extend to you my sympathies for what happened to your father,” Colonel Russell said stiffly. “Is there anything I can get you or your mother?”

White Fire was aware of the colonel speaking to him, yet the man’s eyes moved as White Fire’s mother stepped up beside him. As always, the colonel, whose wife had been too ill to attend the funeral, was openly enjoying looking at White Fire’s ravishingly beautiful mother.

White Fire blazed inside as his mother smiled up at the colonel in her flirtatious way, then lowered her eyes demurely and portrayed the new widow.

Reshelle Russell, the ravishing daughter of the commandant, stood in her tight-fitting green velvet suit, her chin proudly lifted as she continued to smile at White Fire, captivated by him. Not only by his handsomeness, but by the fact that he was a ’breed.

She entered her own world of pretend as she continued to gaze at him and waited for the discussion between her father and the handsome half-breed to be over. She had heard her parents talking about how Samuel Dowling had the Indian name of White Fire. That was almost as intriguing to Reshelle as the man.

She could see herself at age twenty, walking hand in hand with White Fire Dowling along the river, their hearts joined as one. She could even feel what it might be like to be kissed by him. . . .

“Daughter, we must hurry back home now and see how your mother is faring,” Colonel Russell said dryly. He took Reshelle’s hand and whisked her quickly past White Fire and Jania May.

Just as Reshelle brushed past White Fire, she leaned against him and spoke into his ear. “I am known as Reshelle by everyone,” she whispered. “But to you I am Flame. When you think of me, think of me as Flame, not Reshelle.”

The young man was taken aback by her boldness, by her realization that he had been silently admiring her. He watched her walk away beside her father, so straight-backed and confident.

He watched her hair fluttering in the breeze. It

was so bright red in color, it looked as though it had been touched by the flames of the sun.

When Flame sent him another smile across her shoulder, White Fire returned her smile.

His smile quickly faded. He felt foolish for having, for even one minute, seen her as someone he might pursue in the future.

Forcing her from his mind, White Fire hurried on in the opposite direction. He saw that his mother was trailing behind him, panting for breath as she tried to keep up with his fast pace.

When he reached his sorrel horse tethered at a post just outside the fort, he stiffened as his mother caught up with him. He could feel her gaze on him. He tried to ignore her. He doubted that he could ever feel close to her again, as he had as a child when he was ignorant of her deceiving ways.

“Son, please don’t leave me,” Jania May pleaded.

Still White Fire ignored her. He removed his black jacket and shoved it inside one of his saddlebags. He slid into a fringed buckskin jacket, then swung himself up into his saddle.

He turned and checked the blankets rolled up behind him on his saddle. When he saw that they were secure, he checked the buckles of his saddle bags and made sure they were tight.

Seeing that everything was ready for his long travels ahead, he finally turned and gazed down at his mother.

Suddenly he felt sad to leave her. He did love her. He always would. It was just impossible to forgive her for what she had done to his father.

“Mother, whenever possible, I will send you wires and letters,” he blurted out. “I assure you, Mother, I am not abandoning you, like—”

He stopped short of saying, “Like you abandoned Father.”

“Son, always remember that I have always done what I could for you,” Jania May said, a sob lodged in her throat. “Until recently, when I fell in love with another man, everything I did was for you.”

White Fire gave her a perplexed stare, wondering if she truly believed this. Had she fooled herself into believing such nonsense as that?

He sighed heavily, then wheeled his horse around and rode off, concentrating on the adventures that lay before him, leaving all sadness and heartaches behind him.