* * *
Hunter would have beaten Jonah Bramen as handily as he had all his other opponents, had he not caught a glimpse of Blind Snake in the crowd. Indians frequently came to the trading post, so sighting one wouldn't have jarred him, had it been any other brave. Distracted by that sharp jolt of recognition, Hunter failed to block Jonah's next blow, and suffered badly for his momentary lapse of attention, when Jonah's fist glanced off his right cheek and sliced through his brow. Blood began to drip into his eye, and he tossed his head to fling it aside.
Believing he was the first man ever to draw blood from the Indian, Jonah gave an excited whoop and waved to the men who were cheering for him. Hunter drew back, feigning pain and, fooled, Jonah dropped his guard slightly, giving Hunter the opening to come back at him with renewed ferocity. He slammed his fist into Jonah's solar plexus; when he gasped and doubled over, Hunter caught him on the chin with a teeth-rattling punch that buckled his knees.
His brief dream of victory brought to a painfully abrupt end, Jonah struggled to rise, but slipped on a piece of gravel and went down. Hunter moved astride the fallen man, planted his knees firmly on Jonah's shoulder blades, grabbed his hair, and yanked his head back. "Had enough?" the brave asked.
Jonah bucked and twisted in an effort to break free, but failed to dislodge the wily brave. He cursed loudly, and Hunter responded by grinding his face down into the dirt. "I'm not a patient man," the Indian revealed, before again pulling Jonah's head back at a dangerous angle.
His mouth full of sandy soil, Jonah spit and sputtered. Humiliated, he chose to give up rather than risk having his neck snapped by a foul-tempered Indian he had never expected to be so strong and fast. "Enough," he moaned grudgingly.
Hunter released him with another rude shove that sent Jonah's face slamming into the ground. The brave then rose and stepped away, but remained wary, just in case Jonah regretted his defeat and attempted another go at him. It wasn't until Jonah got to his feet and started off in the opposite direction, that Hunter began to relax.
Peter Bright handed Hunter a handkerchief. "That cut looks bad."
"It'll heal," Hunter insisted, but it was painful. He pressed the handkerchief against his brow to stem the flow of blood, while he searched the crowd for Blind Snake. He was positive he had seen the same evil snarl on the brave's face that he'd worn when he had waved a bloody scalp and shouted his name, but the Abenaki was nowhere to be found.
"Did you see an Indian here this afternoon?"
Peter looked puzzled. "Only you."
Peter was a good soul, but not the smartest man at the trading post, and Hunter didn't scold him for giving such a ridiculous answer. Not trusting the men who had organized the fight to give him a fair share, he waited while the money was being counted. It wasn't until he had pocketed his earnings that he turned toward the trading post, and saw Alanna and Elliott standing on the steps. He didn't know which of them looked more surprised, but what he saw in their shocked expressions looked close to disgust, and he knew they hadn't been favorably impressed to find him fighting.
He lifted the handkerchief from the cut, and when he felt no new blood oozing toward his eye, he stuffed the bloodstained square of linen into his belt. He picked up his shirt and carried it over to the bottom of the stairs. He eyed the Virginians with a suspicious glance, and waited for them to explain their reason for being there.
Elliott had seen enough of the fight to be reminded of the vicious streak Hunter had displayed last summer. He had admired the Indian's prowess then. Now, he thought him mean rather than courageous. "Didn't you receive my letters?" he asked accusingly.
"I got them."
"Then why didn't you answer?"
Hunter shook the dust from his shirt. "I had nothing to say."
Stunned by the inappropriateness of his response, Alanna could not help but stare. Physically, Hunter was still the same exceptionally handsome man—half-clothed, even more so—but his manner had changed so dramatically she scarcely knew what to expect. When he looked up at her, his icy gaze chilled her clear through.
"You had nothing to say about your own son?" she asked.
As surprised as when he'd first seen them, Hunter had to force himself to react calmly, rather than gape like a witless fool. "I have no children."
"I thought you said you got my letters," Elliott exclaimed.
Again searching for Blind Snake, Hunter glanced away, but there was still no sign of the belligerent brave. "I didn't read them," he finally admitted.
Alanna found it difficult to believe this aloof stranger was Christian's father, and she was deeply disappointed in him. When he had last bid her goodbye, she had actually believed that he really cared what happened to her. Apparently his kiss had meant nothing. "You told me if I ever needed you, to write to you here."
"You weren't the one who wrote to me."
His tone was insulting, and Alanna reacted with equal sarcasm. "You mean you would have answered had I written the letters rather than Elliott?"
Hunter continued to regard Alanna with an insolent gaze. He had not expected accusations from her, but there was a new pride to her bearing that had been absent in their last meeting. They had both changed in the intervening months, but he thought the difference in her an improvement.
"Yes," he replied. "I gave you my word. If you came all this way to hear me say I have no son, then I'm sorry for your trouble."
"You're not half as sorry as we are," Elliott declared. "Melissa's dead, and her son needs a father."
"That's her husband's concern, not mine."
Hunter had shown as little reaction to the mention of Melissa's death, as he had to the announcement of his son's birth. Alanna wondered if he was even listening to them. "The boy is clearly yours, Hunter."