White Fire

“Thank you,” Flame murmured, her lips quivering into a slow smile when he gave her reins back.

Then she looked past him at Michael. “Can I ride for a while with you and Michael?” she asked softly, the argument forgotten. “I love children. And he seems so special.”

“Yes, very,” he said, looking over his shoulder at his son.

Then he smiled at her. “You captivated him,” he said, laughing softly. “I do believe you now have two men in love with you.”

Flame’s face flushed hot. “You do believe so, do you?” she murmured. She smiled into White Fire’s eyes. “Nothing would make me happier than to be loved by both you and your son.”

There was a moment of silence between them, when White Fire wanted so badly to reach over and grab Flame from her horse and onto his lap to kiss her. With innocent eyes of a watching child on them, he instead wheeled his horse around and rode away from Flame.

“Come on,” he shouted over his shoulder, “let’s go for that ride.”

Flame laughed into the wind, then rode off after White Fire.

When they reached Michael, they rode on each side of him, and laughed, chatted, and had a wonderful time.

White Fire’s chest swelled with pride to be with the woman he loved and his son at the same time, and seeing that they seemed naturally drawn together. He rode and listened to them having small talk, smiling at his son’s true interest in Flame.

“How do you, a lady, know how to ride a horse so well?” Michael asked.

“How?” Flame said, looking past Michael at White Fire, then gazing at Michael again. “I was taught to ride by the master horsemen of St. Louis—the owners of great Clydesdale horses.”

“What is a Clydesdale horse?” Michael asked.

“It is a horse much larger than the one me and your father are riding today,” Flame said, remembering the thrill of her first time on one of the magnificent steeds. “The Clydesdale horses originated in Lanarkshire, Scotland, near the River Clyde. Not too many people know about them. A dear friend of my father brought four of them from Scotland. I was one of the first to ride them.”

“Are they pretty?” Michael asked.

“Very,” Flame said. “Their color is usually bay, dark brown, or black. You can recognize them by their white markings and the long hair around their hooves, which people call their feathers. It’s quite a thrill to ride on one, up so high above the ground!”

“I would like to see a Clydesdale horse some day,” Michael said.

“Perhaps you shall,” Flame said, again looking over at his father. “Perhaps sometime in the future you will own one, yourself.”

“I would like that,” Michael said, beaming.

The more White Fire listened to Flame and Michael talking, the more he could see all of them having a future together. Would she truly not mind becoming an instant mother to a child Michael’s age? With her love of freedom, could becoming a mother so quickly be stifling to her?

He would not think of that possibility, for never had White Fire wanted anything as much as he wanted to have both Michael and Flame with him forever.

Flame’s eyes wavered as she gazed down at Michael. “I must leave you now,” she murmured. “It’s time for me to return home. My father has a tendency to worry too much about me.”

White Fire rode

over and took one of Flame’s hands. “I want to see you again real soon,” he said thickly. “When can we arrange it?”

“I’ll come to your cabin when I get the chance,” she murmured. “I just don’t want to cause Father to get so angry at my antics that he sends me back to St. Louis. You know that he could do that, White Fire, and there would be nothing much I could do about it.” She paused and laughed softly, then said, “Except perhaps dive overboard and swim my way back to you.”

“Do you know how to swim as well as you ride a horse?” Michael asked, not understanding that she was just joking.

She looked at Michael. “I’ll have you know I can swim as good as any fish in the Mississippi River,” she said, laughing again.

“I don’t know how to swim,” Michael said solemnly, lowering his eyes. Then he looked quickly up at his father. “I am so glad that you taught me how to ride when I was small, so that I could ride with you today.” He looked up at Flame. “Can you teach me how to swim someday?” he asked, his eyes innocently wide.

“Why, Michael, I’d love to teach you how to swim and anything else you have failed to be taught by your adoptive family,” Flame said. She slid from the saddle and went to him. She reached up and embraced him, melting inside when he wrapped his tiny arms around her neck and returned the hug.

Then she pulled away from him and placed a gentle hand on his cheek. Then she went back and swung herself into her saddle. “I’ll see you soon,” she said, smiling at White Fire. She then gazed at Michael. “Hopefully you, too, Michael.”