This man, who wo­re a vest of pu­ma skin and frin­ged buc­k­s­kin tro­users had a gre­at, ar­c­hing chest and im­men­se sho­ul­ders. His ha­ir was black and thick and hung in bra­ids down his mas­si­ve, stra­ight back. His fa­ce had li­nes of for­ce and in­tel­li­gen­ce. She felt sud­denly awed in his ma­j­es­tic pre­sen­ce and won­de­red if he might be so­me­one of gre­at im­por­tan­ce.

Her eyes stop­ped on his moc­ca­sins, ca­using her he­art to jump with re­li­ef.

They we­re black!

The Blac­k­fo­ot we­re the only In­di­ans known to we­ar black moc­ca­sins. That had to me­an that she was in a fri­endly camp of In­di­ans!

She tur­ned her eyes slowly aro­und her, de­ci­ding that this man was su­rely not the chi­ef of this vil­la­ge, for far­t­her in­to the vil­la­ge sat a much lar­ger te­pee po­si­ti­oned on a knoll that over­lo­oked the ot­hers, as she ima­gi­ned a chi­ef's te­pee wo­uld be.

A shuf­fling so­und and a gasp drew Jole­na's he­ad aro­und in a jerk. She swal­lo­wed hard and pla­ced a hand at her thro­at when she fo­und the ol­der man sta­ring at her, his eyes full of qu­es­ti­ons as he ga­zed in­ten­sely at her fa­ce­as tho­ugh per­haps he knew it well al­re­ady!

Brown Elk be­gan in­c­hing bac­k­ward, away from Jole­na, then was for­ced to stop when his back ca­me in­to con­tact with the cow­hi­de fab­ric of his te­pee. His he­art was thud­ding wildly and he was fe­eling fa­int, for ne­ver had he ex­pec­ted to see that fa­ce aga­in­not un­til he jo­ined his be­lo­ved wi­ves in the land of the he­re­af­ter!

''How… can… it be?" he fi­nal­ly stam­me­red.

Jolena had al­re­ady ex­pe­ri­en­ced such a re­ac­ti­on from anot­her Blac­k­fo­ot­S­pot­ted Eag­le!

He had al­so lo­oked at her as tho­ugh se­e­ing a ghost, thin­king that she was her mot­her!

That had to me­an that this man al­so re­cog­ni­zed the re­sem­b­lan­ce, which had to me­an that he was su­rely from the sa­me tri­be, the sa­me vil­la­ge, per­haps the sa­me dwel­ling!

"Are you Brown Elk?" she blur­ted out, ho­ping he wo­uld un­der­s­tand her. She might be lo­oking upon the fa­ce of her true fat­her for the first ti­me in her li­fe! It did not se­em pos­sib­le, yet the­re it was in the way he was re­ac­t

ing to her know­led­ge of his na­me!

"My na­me is Brown Elk," he sa­id in En­g­lish, his vo­ice drawn. "And yo­urs? What are you cal­led? Whe­re did you co­me from? Why are you he­re? How do you know my na­me?"

His ga­ze swept over her aga­in, ra­ising an eyeb­row at the way she was dres­sed. It was ob­vi­o­us that she was an In­di­an, yet she was dres­sed as a whi­te wo­man!

He lo­oked at her aga­in with wild, won­de­ring eyes, kno­wing of only one way all of this co­uld be pos­sib­le!

She was the mir­ror ima­ge of Swe­et Do­ve.

She was… his da­ug­h­ter!

It was as tho­ugh it had be­en des­ti­ned for them to me­et in such a way!

After all the­se ye­ars of won­de­ring, Jole­na was in the pre­sen­ce of her true fat­her, and now she didn't know what to do next.

She so badly wan­ted to mo­ve in­to his arms and cling to him, to ta­ke from him the com­fort that she ne­eded now to get her past her gri­eving for Spot­ted Eag­le and Kirk.

But she knew that she had to hold her­self in check. Just be­ca­use he was her fat­her by blo­od did not ma­ke them in­s­tantly lo­ve each ot­her as da­ug­h­ter and fat­her! Lo­ve wo­uld su­rely ha­ve to grow bet­we­en them.

He was a fat­her who wo­uld ha­ve to ac­cept that the baby he had be­en de­ni­ed was sud­denly a grown wo­man.

"You are Brown Elk," Jole­na sa­id, her vo­ice trem­b­ling as much as her kne­es and fin­gers. "I am cal­led Jole­na by the whi­te com­mu­nity, but I am not su­re what Blac­k­fo­ot na­me you wo­uld ha­ve cal­led me had I not be­en ta­ken by whi­te pe­op­le in­s­te­ad of be­ing left for you to find on the day my mot­her sac­ri­fi­ced her li­fe to gi­ve me mi­ne."

Brown Elk's sho­ul­ders swa­yed with the ab­so­lu­te know­led­ge now that this was his da­ug­h­ter, the child he had mo­ur­ned. Even af­ter his se­cond wi­fe had gi­ven birth to Two Rid­ges, this son had not be­en eno­ugh to era­se the sad­ness of ha­ving lost his ot­her child.

When his se­cond wi­fe had di­ed from a fe­ve­rish ma­lady, he had not mar­ri­ed aga­in, but re­su­med trying to ease his ha­un­ting tho­ughts of whe­re his first child was, and whet­her or not the child was even ali­ve! And now he was bles­sed! His da­ug­h­ter had re­tur­ned to him.

After all the­se ye­ars, his ple­as and pra­yers to the fi­res of the sun had fi­nal­ly be­en an­s­we­red.

Brown Elk re­ac­hed his arms out for Jole­na. " Ok-yi, co­me to me, da­ug­h­ter," he sa­id thickly, fig­h­ting back the ur­ge to cry that ma­de men lo­ok li­ke wo­men in the eyes of tho­se who wit­nes­sed such a we­ak­ness. "Let me fill my arms and he­art with you. This has be­en de­ni­ed me long eno­ugh."

Sobbing with joy, Jole­na eased her­self in­to his thick, mus­cu­lar arms. She hug­ged him tightly, re­ve­ling in the won­der of the mo­ment. "I ne­ver tho­ught this wo­uld hap­pen," she cri­ed, tur­ning her dark eyes up to him. "I ha­ve dre­amed it. Oh, how many ti­mes I ha­ve dre­amed it. I've pra­yed for this. It to­ok a long ti­me, but God fi­nal­ly an­s­we­red my pra­yers."

Brown Elk pla­ced his fin­gers at her wa­ist and eased her slightly away from him, enab­ling him to get a go­od lo­ok at her. "I, too, ha­ve pra­yed," he sa­id. "The Blac­k­fo­ot cre­ator, Na­pi, has he­ard my pra­yers. He has fi­nal­ly gran­ted them true."

Tags: Cassie Edwards Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net